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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


The 

Dull    Miss    Archinard 


By 

Anne  Douglas  Sedgwick 


New  York 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
1898 


Copyright,  1898,  by 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons 

A  a  rights  retervtd 


TO 

MY  GRANDMOTHER 
H.  fl>.  9. 


$53*1 


Prologue 
PETER   ODD 


536766 


The  Dull  Miss  Archinard 


CHAPTER  I. 

PETER  ODD  was  fishing.  He  stood  knee-deep 
in  a  placid  bend  of  stream,  whipping  the  water 
deftly,  his  eyes  peacefully  intent  on  the  floating  fly, 
his  mind  in  the  musing,  impersonal  mood  of  fisher- 
man reverie,  no  definite  thought  forming  from  the 
appreciative  impressions  of  sunlit  meadows,  cool 
stretches  of  shade  beneath  old  trees,  gleaming 
curves  of  river.  For  a  tired  man,  fishing  is  an 
occupation  particularly  soothing,  and  Peter  Odd 
was  tired,  tired  and  sad.  His  pleasure  was  now, 
perhaps,  more  that  of  the  lover  of  nature  than  of 
the  true  sportsman,  the  pastoral  feast  of  the  land- 
scape with  its  blue  distance  of  wooded  hill,  more 
to  him  than  the  expected  flashing  leap  of  a  scarlet- 
spotted  beauty;  yet  the  attitude  of  receptive  in- 
tentness  was  pleasant  in  all  its  phases,  no  one 
weary  thought  could  become  dominant  while  the 
eyes  rested  on  the  water,  or  were  raised  to  such 
loveliness  of  quiet  English  country.  So  much  of 
what  he  saw  his  own  too ;  the  sense  of  proprietor- 
ship is,  under  such  circumstances,  an  intimately 
pleasant  thing,  and  although,  where  Odd  stood  at 
a  wide  curve  of  water,  a  line  of  hedge  and  tall 
7 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

beech-trees  sloping  down  to  the  river  marked  the 
confines  of  his  property  just  here,  the  woods  and 
meadows  before  him  were  all  his — to  the  blue  hills 
on  the  sky  almost,  the  park  behind  him  stretched 
widely  about  Allersley  Manor,  and  to  the  left  the 
river  ran  for  a  very  respectable  number  of  miles 
through  woods  and  meadows  as  beautiful.  The 
sense  of  proprietorship  was  still  new  enough  to 
give  a  little  thrill,  for  the  old  squire  had  died  only 
two  years  before,  and  the  sorrow  of  loss  had  only 
recently  roused  itself  to  the  realization  of  bequeathed 
responsibilities,  to  the  realization  that  energies  so 
called  forth  may  perhaps  make  of  life  a  thing  well 
worth  living.  A  life  of  quiet  utility  ;  to  feel  oneself 
of  some  earthly  use;  what  more  could  one  ask? 
The  duties  of  a  landowner  in  our  strenuous  days 
may  well  fill  a  man's  horizon,  and  Odd  was  well 
content  that  they  should  do  so ;  for  the  present  at 
least ;  and  he  did  not  look  beyond  the  present. 

In  his  tweeds  and  waterproof  knee-breeches  and 
boots,  a  sun-burnt  straw  hat  shading  his  thin 
brown  face,  his  hand  steady  and  dexterous,  as 
brown  and  thin,  he  was  a  pleasing  example  of  the 
English  country-gentleman  type.  He  was  tall,  with 
the  flavor  of  easy  strength  and  elegance  that  an 
athletic  youth  gives  to  the  most  awkwardly  made 
man.  His  face  was  at  once  humorous  and  sad ; 
it  is  strange  how  a  humorous  character  shows 
itself  through  the  saddest  set  of  feature.  Odd's 
long,  rather  acquiline  nose  and  Vandyke  beard 
made  a  decidedly  melancholy  silhouette  on  the 
sunlit  water,  yet  all  the  lines  of  the  face  told  of  a 
kindly  contemplation  of  the  world's  pathetic  follies ; 
8 


PETER  ODD 

the  mouth  was  sternly  cut  yet  very  good-tempered, 
and  its  firm  line  held  evident  suggestions  of  quiet 
smiling. 

Poor  Peter  Odd  had  himself  committed  a  pathetic 
folly,  and,  as  a  result,  smiles  might  be  tinged  with 
bitterness. 

A  captured  trout  presently  demanded  concen- 
trated attention.  The  vigorous  fish  required  long 
playing  until  worn  out,  when  he  was  deftly  secured 
in  the  landing-net  and  despatched  with  merciful 
promptitude  ;  indeed,  a  little  look  of  nervous  dis- 
taste might  have  roused  in  an  unsympathetic  looker- 
on  conjectures  as  to  a  rather  weak  strain — a  foolish 
width  of  pity  in  Peter  Odd's  character. 

"  A  beauty,"  he  mentally  ejaculated.  He  sat 
down  in  the  shade.  It  was  hot ;  the  long,  thick 
grass  invited  a  lolling  rest. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hedge  was  a  rustic 
bathing-cabin,  and  from  it  Odd  heard  the  laughing 
chatter  of  young  voices.  The  adjoining  property 
was  a  small  one  belonging  to  a  Captain  Archinard. 
Odd  had  seen  little  of  him  ;  his  wife  was  understood 
to  be  something  of  an  invalid,  and  he  had  two  girls 
— these  their  voices,  no  doubt.  Odd  took  off  his 
hat  and  mopped  his  forehead,  looking  at  the  little 
landing-wharf  which  he  could  just  see  beyond  the 
hedge,  and  where  one  could  moor  boats  or  dive  off 
into  the  deepness  of  the  water.  The  latter  form  of 
aquatic  exercise  was  probably  about  to  take  place, 
for  Odd  heard — 

"  I  can  swim  beautifully  already,  papa,"  in  a  con- 
fident young  voice — a  gay  voice,  quiet,  and  yet  ex- 
cited too  by  the  prospect  of  a  display  of  prowess. 
9 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

A  tall,  thin  girl  of  about  fourteen  stepped  out  on 
to  the  landing.  A  bathing-dress  is  not  as  a  rule  a 
very  graceful  thing,  yet  this  child,  her  skirt  to  her 
knee,  a  black  silk  sash  knotted  around  her  waist, 
with  her  slim  white  legs  and  charming  feet,  was  as 
graceful  as  a  young  Amazon  on  a  Grecian  frieze. 
A  heavy  mass  of  braids,  coiled  up  to  avoid  a  wetting, 
crowned  her  small  head.  She  was  not  pretty  ;  Odd 
saw  that  immediately,  even  while  admiring  the 
well-poised  figure,  its  gallantly  held  little  torso  and 
light  energy.  Her  profile  showed  a  short  nose  and 
prominent  chin,  inharmoniously  accentuated.  She 
seemed  really  ugly  when  her  sister  joined  her ;  the 
sister  was  beautiful.  Odd  roused  himself  a  little 
from  his  half  recumbency  to  look  at  the  sister  ap- 
preciatively. Her  slimness  was  exaggerated  to  an 
extreme — an  almost  fluttering  lightness  ;  her  long 
arms  and  legs  seemed  to  flash  their  whiteness  on 
the  green  ;  she  had  an  exquisite  profile,  and  her  soft 
black  hair  swept  up  into  the  same  coronet  of  coils. 
Captain  Archinard  joined  them  as  they  stood  side 
by  side. 

"  You  had  better  race,"  he  said,  looking  down  into 
the  water,  and  then  away  to  the  next  band  of  shad- 
ow. "  Dive  in,  and  race  to  that  clump  of  aspens. 
This  is  a  jolly  bit  for  diving." 

"  But,  papa,  we  shall  wet  our  hair  fearfully,"  said 
the  elder  girl — the  ugly  one — for  so  Odd  already 
ungallantly  designated  her.  "  We  usually  get  in 
on  this  shallower  side  and  swim  off.  We  have  never 
tried  diving,  for  it  takes  so  long  to  dry  our  hair. 
Taylor  would  not  like  it  at  all." 

"  It  is  so  deep,  too,"  said  the  beauty  in  rather 
10 


PETER  ODD 

a  faltering  voice — unfortunately  faltering,  for  her 
father  turned  sharply  on  her. 

"  Afraid,  hey  ?  You  must  n't  be  a  coward, 
Hilda." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  the  elder  girl ;  "  but  I 
never  tried  it.  What  must  I  do?  Put  my  arms 
so,  and  jump  head  first  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  do  at  all,"  said  the  Captain, 
with  some  acidity  of  tone.  "  Keep  your  mouth 
shut  and  strike  out  as  you  come  up.  You  '11  do  it, 
Katherine,  first  try.  Hilda  is  in  a  funk,  I  see." 

"  Poor  Hilda,"  Odd  ejaculated  mentally.  She 
was  evidently  in  a  funk.  Standing  on  the  edge  of 
the  landing,  one  slim  foot  advanced  in  a  tentative 
effort,  she  looked  down  shrinking  into  the  water — 
very  deeply  black  at  this  spot — and  then,  half  en- 
treatingly,  half  helplessly,  at  her  father. 

"  Oh,  papa,  it  is  so  deep,"  she  repeated. 

The  Captain's  neatly  made  face  showed  signs  of 
peevish  irritation. 

"  Well,  deep  or  not,  in  you  go.  I  must  break 
you  of  that  craven  spirit.  What  are  you  afraid  of  ? 
What  could  happen  to  you  ?  " 

"  I — don't  like  water  over  my  head — I  might  strike 
— on  something." 

Tears  were  near  the  surface. 

What  asses  people  made  of  themselves,  thought 
Odd,  with  their  silly  shows  of  authority.  The  more 
the  father  insisted,  the  more  frightened  the  child 
became;  couldn't  the  idiot  see  that?  The  tear- 
filled  eyes  and  looks  that  showed  a  struggle  between 
fear  of  her  father's  anger  and  fear  of  the  deep,  black 
pool,  moved  Odd  to  a  sudden  though  half-amused 
ii 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

resentment,  for  the  little  girl  was  certainly  some- 
what of  a  coward. 

"  Let  me  go  in  first,  papa,  and  show  her.  Hilda, 
dear,  it 's  nothing ;  being  frightened  will  make  it 
something,  though,  so  don't  be  frightened,  and  watch 
me." 

"  Yes,  go  in  first,  Katherine ;  show  her  that  I 
have  a  girl  who  is  n't  a  coward — and  how  one  of  my 
daughters  came  to  be  a  coward  I  don't  understand. 
I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Hilda." 

Hilda  evidently  only  controlled  her  sobs  by  a 
violent  effort ;  her  caught-in  under-lip,  wide  eyes, 
and  heaving  little  chest  affected  Odd  painfully.  He 
frowned,  sat  up,  put  his  hat  on,  and  watched  Miss 
Katherine  with  a  lack  of  sympathy  that  was  certainly 
unfair,  for  the  plucky  little  person  went  through  the 
performance  most  creditably,  stretched  out  and  up 
her  thin  pretty  arms,  curved  forward  her  pretty 
body,  and  made  the  plunge  with  a  lithe  elegance 
that  left  her  father  gazing  with  complacent  approval 
after  the  white  flash  of  her  feet. 

"Bravo!  First-rate!  There,  Hilda,  you  see 
what  can  be  done.  Come  on,  little  white  feather." 
He  spoke  more  kindly  ;  the  elder  sister's  prowess  put 
him  more  in  humor  with  his  less  creditable  offspring. 

"  Oh,  papa  !  "  The  child  shrank  on  the  edge  of 
the  platform — she  would  go  bundling  in,  and  hurt 
herself.  "  But,  papa,"  and  her  voice  held  a  sharp 
accent  of  distress,  "  where  is  Katherine  ?  " 

Indeed  Katherine  had  not  reappeared.  Only  a 
moment  had  passed,  but  a  moment  under  water  is 
long.  Captain  Archinard's  eyes  searched  the  sur- 
face of  the  river. 

12 


PETER  ODD 

"  But  she  can  swim  ?  " 

"Papa!  papa!  She  is  drowned,  drowned!" 
Hilda's  voice  rose  to  a  scream.  With  a  wild  look 
of  resolve  she  sprang  into  the  river  just  as  Odd 
dashed  in,  knee-deep,  and  as  Katherine's  head  ap- 
peared at  some  distance  down  the  current — an  angry 
little  head,  half  choked,  and  gasping.  Katherine 
swam  and  waded  to  the  shore,  falling  on  her  knees 
upon  the  bank,  while  Odd  dived  into  the  hole — 
very  bad  hole,  deep  and  weedy — after  Hilda. 

He  groped  for  the  child  among  a  tangle  of  roots, 
touched  her  hair,  grasped  her  round  the  waist,  and 
came  to  the  surface  with  some  difficulty,  his  strokes 
impeded  by  sinuous  cord-like  weeds.  Captain  Ar- 
chinard  was  too  much  astonished  by  the  whole  mat- 
ter to  do  more  than  exclaim,  "  Upon  my  word !  " 
as  his  younger  daughter  was  deposited  at  his  feet. 

"  A  nasty  hole  that.  The  weeds  have  probably 
grown  since  any  one  has  dived." 

Odd  spoke  shortly,  having  lost  his  breath,  and 
severely ;  the  child  looked  half  drowned,  and  Kathe- 
rine was  still  gasping. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Odd  !  Upon  my  word  !  "—the  Cap- 
tain- recognized  his  neighbor — "  I  don't  know  how 
to  thank  you." 

The  Captain  had  not  recovered  from  his  astonish- 
ment, and  repeated  with  some  vehemence  :  "  Upon 
my  word ! " 

"  Well,  papa,  you  nearly  drowned  me ! "  Kathe- 
rine was  struggling  between  pride  and  anger.  She 
would  not  let  the  tears  come,  but  they  were  near 
the  surface.  "  Those  horrible  snaky  things  got  hold 
of  me  and  I  almost  screamed,  only  I  remembered 
13 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

that  I  must  n't  open  my  mouth,  and  I  thought  I 
would  never  come  to  the  top."  The  self-pitying  re- 
trospect brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes,  but  she  held 
up  her  head  and  looked  and  spoke  her  resentment, 
"  I  think  you  might  have  gone  in  first  yourself.  And 
Hilda  !  Why  did  n't  you  wait  until  I  came  to  the 
surface  before  you  made  her  do  it  ?  " 

Captain  Archinard  looked  more  vague  under  these 
reproaches  than  one  would  have  expected  after  his 
exhibition  of  rather  fretful  autocracy. 

"  Made  her !  "  he  repeated,  seizing  with  a  rather 
mean  haste  at  the  error ;  "  made  her  ?  She  went  in 
herself!  Like  a  rocket,  after  you.  By  Jove!  she 
showed  her  blood  after  all." 

"  Hilda !  you  tried  to  save  my  life !  " 

Odd  still  held  the  younger  girl  on  his  arm,  sup- 
porting her  while  she  choked  and  panted,  for  she 
had  evidently  had  not  shown  her  sister's  aplomb  and 
had  opened  her  mouth.  Katherine  took  her  into 
her  arms  and  kissed  her  with  a  warmth  quite  dra- 
matic. 

"  Darling  Hilda !  And  you  were  so  frightened, 
too.  I  would  have  gone  in  after  her"  she  added, 
looking  up  at  Odd  with  a  bright,  quick  glance,  "  but 
there  would  have  been  nothing  to  my  credit  in 
that." 

"  And  /  would  have  gone  in  after  her,  it  goes 
without  saying,  Mr.  Odd,"  said  the  Captain,  when 
Katherine  had  led  away  to  the  bathing-cabin  her 
still  dazed  sister,  "  but  you  seemed  to  drop  from 
the  clouds.  Really,  you  have  put  me  under  a  great 
obligation." 

"  Not  at  all.     I  have  spent  most  of  the  day  in 


PETER  ODD 

the  river.  I  merely  went  in  a  bit  deeper  to  fish  out 
that  plucky  little  girl." 

"  I  Ve  dived  off  that  spot  a  hundred  times.  I  'd 
no  idea  there  were  weeds.  I  Ve  never  known  weeds 
to  be  there.  I  '11  send  down  one  of  the  men  directly 
after  lunch  and  have  it  seen  to.  Really  I  feel 
a  sense  of  responsibility."  The  Captain  went  on 
with  an  air  of  added  self-justification,  "  Though,  of 
course,  I  'm  not  responsible.  I  could  n't  have  known 
about  the  weeds." 

Weeds  or  no  weeds,  Odd  could  not  forgive  him 
for  the  child's  fright,  though  he  replied  good-hu- 
moredly  to  the  invitation  to  the  house. 

"  Mrs.  Archinard  would  have  called  on  Mrs.  Odd 
before  this,  but  my  wife  is  an  invalid — never  leaves 
the  house  or  grounds.  She  sees  a  good  deal  of  Miss 
Odd.  I  knew  your  father  myself  as  well  as  one  may 
know  such  a  recluse  ;  spent  some  pleasant  hours  in 
his  library — magnificent  library  you  Ve  got.  Pecul- 
iarly satisfactory  it  must  be,  as  you  go  in  for  that 
sort  of  thing.  Won't  you  come  in  to  tea  this  after- 
noon? And  Mrs.  Odd?  Miss  Odd?  I  was  sorry  to 
find  them  out  when  I  called  the  other  day.  I  have  n't 
seen  Mrs.  Odd.  I  don't  see  her  at  church." 

"  No ;  we  have  hardly  settled  down  to  our  duties 
yet,  and  my  wife  only  got  back  from  the  Riviera 
a  few  weeks  ago." 

"  Well,  I  hope  we  shall  keep  you  at  Allersley  now 
that  your  -wander jahre  are  over,  and  that  you 
are  married.  I  was  wandering  myself  during  your 
boyhood.  My  brother  bought  the  place,  you  know  ; 
liked  the  country  here  immensely.  Poor  old  Jack ! 
Only  lived  ten  years  to  enjoy  it — and  died  a  bach- 
15 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

elor — luckily  for  me.  But  we  Ve  missed  one  ar 
other,  have  n't  we  ?  Neighbors  too.  I  have  see 
Mrs.  Odd — at  a  dance  in  London,  Lady  Bartl< 
bury's,  I  remember ;  and  I  remember  that  she  wa 
the  prettiest  girl  in  the  room.  Miss  Castleton — th 
beautiful  Alicia  Castleton." 

Miss  Castleton's  fame  had  indeed  been  so  wid 
that  the  title  was  quite  public  property,  and  th 
Captain's  reminiscent  tone  of  admiration  most  nai 
ural  and  allowable.  Odd  accepted  the  invitation  t 
tea,  waded  back  round  the  hedge,  gathered  up  hi 
basket  and  rod,  and  made  his  way  up  through  th 
park  to  Allersley  Manor. 

16 


CHAPTER  II 

MRS.  ODD  and  Miss  Odd,  Peter's  eldest  and 
unmarried  sister,  were  having  an  only  half- 
veiled  altercation  when  Odd,  after  putting  on  dry 
clothes,  came  into  the  morning-room  just  before 
lunch.  Miss  Odd  sat  by  the  open  French  window 
cutting  the  leaves  of  a  review.  There  were  several 
more  reviews  on  the  table  beside  her,  and  with  her 
eyeglasses  and  fine,  severe  profile,  she  gave  one  the 
impression  of  a  woman  who  would  pass  her  morn- 
ings over  reviews  and  disagree  with  most  of  them 
for  reasons  not  frivolous. 

Mrs.  Odd  lay  back  in  an  easy-chair.  She  was 
very  remarkable  looking.  The  adjective  is  usually 
employed  in  a  sense  rather  derogatory  to  beauty 
pure  and  simple,  yet  Mrs.  Odd's  dominant  charac- 
teristic was  beauty,  pure  and  simple ;  beauty 
triumphantly  certain  of  remark,  and  remarkable 
in  the  sense  that  no  one  could  fail  to  notice 
her,  as  when  one  had  noticed  her  it  was  impossible 
not  to  find  her  beautiful.  It  was  not  a  loveliness 
that  admitted  of  discussion.  In  desperate  rebellion 
against  an  almost  tame  conformity,  a  rash  person 
might  assert  that  to  him  her  type  did  not  appeal ; 
but  the  type  was  resplendent.  Perhaps  too  resplen- 
dent ;  in  this  extreme  lay  the  only  hope  of  escape 
from  conformity.  The  long  figure  in  the  uniform' 
2  17 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

like  commonplace  of  blue  serge  and  shirt-waist  was 
almost  too  uncommonplace  in  elegance  of  outline  ; 
the  white  hand  too  slender,  too  pink  as  to  finger- 
tips and  polished  as  to  nails  ;  the  delicate  scarlet 
splendor  of  her  mouth,  the  big  wine-colored  eyes, 
too  dazzling. 

Mrs.  Odd's  red-brown  hair  was  a  glory,  a  bur- 
nished, well-coiffed,  well-brushed  glory  ;  it  rippled, 
coiled,  and  curved  about  her  head.  Her  profile  was 
bewildering — lazily,  sweetly  petulant.  "  Is  this  the 
face?  "  a  man  might  murmur  on  first  seeing  Alicia. 

Odd  had  so  murmured  when  she  had  flashed  upon 
his  vision  over  a  year  ago.  He  was  still  young 
and  literary,  and,  as  he  was  swept  out  of  himself, 
had  still  had  time  for  a  vague  grasp  at  self-expres- 
sion. 

Mrs.  Odd  was  speaking  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"  I  don't  really  see,  Mary,  what  duty  has  got  to 
do  with  it."  Without  turning  her  head,  she  turned 
her  eyes  on  Odd  :  "  How  wet  your  hair  is,  Peter  !  " 

Mary  Odd  looked  up  from  the  review  she  was 
cutting  rather  grimly,  and  her  cold  face  was  irradi- 
ated with  a  sudden  smile. 

"  Well,  Peter,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  I  fished  a  little  girl  out  of  the  river,"  said  Odd, 
taking  a  seat  near  Alicia,  and  smiling  responsively 
at  his  sister.  "  Captain  Archinard's  little  girl."  He 
told  the  story. 

"  An  interesting  contrast  of  physical  and  moral 
courage." 

"  I  have  seen  the  children.  They  are  noticeable 
children.  They  always  ride  to  hounds."  Hunting 
had  been  Miss  Odd's  favorite  diversion  during  her 
18. 


PETER  ODD 

father's  lifetime.  "  But  the  pretty  one,  as  I  remem- 
ber, has  not  the  pluck  of  her  sister — physical,  as  you 
say,  Peter,  no  doubt." 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  is  Mrs.  Archinard?  " 

"  Very  pretty,  very  lazy,  very  selfish.  She  is  an 
American,  and  was  rich,  I  believe.  Captain  Archi- 
nard left  the  army  when  he  married  her,  and  imme- 
diately spent  her  money.  Luckily  for  him  poor 
Mr.  Archinard  died — Jack  Archinard  ;  you  remem- 
him,  Peter  ?  A  nice  man.  I  go  to  see  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard now  and  then.  I  don't  care  for  her." 

"  You  don't  care  much  for  any  one,  Mary,"  said 
Mrs.  Odd,  smiling.  "  Your  remarks  on  your  Allers- 
ley  neighbors  are  very  pungent  and  very  true,  no 
doubt.  People  are  so  rarely  perfect,  and  you  only 
tolerate  perfection." 

"  Yet  I  have  many  friends,  Alicia." 

"  Not  near  Allersley  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  think  I  count  Mrs.  Hartley-Fox,  Mrs. 
Maynard,  Lady  Mainwaring,  and  Miss  Hibbard 
among  my  friends." 

"  Mrs.  Maynard  is  the  old  lady  with  the  caps, 
isn't  she  ?  What  big  caps  she  does  wear !  Lady 
Mainwaring  I  remember  in  London,  trying  to  marry 
off  her  eighth  daughter.  You  told  me,  I  recollect, 
that  she  was  an  inveterate  matchmaker." 

"  She  has  no  selfish  eagerness,  if  that  is  what  you 
understood  me  to  mean." 

"  But  she  does  interfere  a  great  deal  with  the 
course  of  events,  when  events  are  marriageable 
young  men,  does  n't  she?  " 

"Does  she?" 

"Well,  you  said  she  was  a  matchmaker,  Mary. 
19 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

There  was  no  disloyalty  in  saying  so,  for  it  is  known 
by  every  one  who  knows  Lady  Mainwaring." 

"  And,  therefore,  my  friends  are  not,  and  need  not 
be,  perfect." 

During  this  little  conversation,  Odd  sat  with  the 
unhappy,  helpless  look  men  wear  when  their  women- 
kind  are  engaged  in  such  contests. 

"  I  am  awfully  hungry.  Is  n't  it  almost  lunch- 
time?"  he  said,  as  they  paused. 

Mrs.  Odd  looked  at  her  watch.  "  It  only  wants 
five  minutes." 

Odd  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the 
sweep  of  lawn,  with  its  lime-trees  and  copper  beeches. 
The  flower-beds  were  in  all  their  glory. 

"  How  well  the  mignonette  is  getting  on,  Mary," 
he  said,  looking  down  at  the  fragrant  greenness  that 
came  to  the  window.  Alicia  got  up  and  joined  her 
husband,  putting  her  arm  through  his. 

"  Let  us  take  a  turn  in  the  garden,  Peter,"  she 
smiled  at  him  ;  and  although  he  understood,  with 
the  fatal  clearness  that  one  year  of  life  with  Alicia 
had  given  him,  that  the  walk  was  only  proposed  as 
a  slight  to  Mary,  he  felt  the  old  pleasure  in  her 
beauty — a  rather  sickly,  pallid  pleasure — and  an 
inner  qualm  was  dispersed  by  the  realization  that  he 
and  Mary  understood  one  another  so  well  that  there 
need  be  no  fear  of  hurting  her. 

After  one  year  of  married  life,  he  and  Mary  knew 
the  nearness  of  the  sympathy  that  allows  itself  no 
words. 

There  seemed  to  Odd  a  perverse  pathos  in  Ali- 
cia's lonely  complacency — a  pathos  emphasized  by 
her  indifferent  unconsciousness. 
2O 


PETER  ODD 

"  Mary  is  so  disagreeable  to-day,"  said  Alicia,  as 
they  walked  slowly  across  the  lawn.  "  She  has 
such  a  strong  sense  of  her  own  worth  and  of  other 
people's  worthlessness." 

Odd  made  no  reply.  He  never  said  a  harsh  word 
to  his  wife.  He  had  chosen  to  marry  her.  The 
man  who  would  wreak  his  own  disillusion  on  the 
woman  he  had  made  his  wife  must,  thought  Odd,  be 
a  sorry  wretch.  He  met  the  revealment  of  Alicia's 
shallow  selfishness  with  humorous  gentleness.  She 
had  been  shallow  and  selfish  when  he  had  married 
her,  and  he  had  not  found  it  out — had  not  cared  to 
find  it  out.  He  contemplated  these  characteristics 
now  with  philosophic,  even  scientific  charity.  She 
was  born  so. 

"  It  will  be  dull  enough  here,  at  all  events,"  Alicia 
went  on,  pressing  her  slim  patent-leather  shoe  into 
the  turf  with  lazy  emphasis  as  she  walked,  for  Alicia 
was  not  bad-tempered,  and  took  things  easily ;  "  but 
if  Mary  is  going  to  be  disagreeable — " 

"  You  know,  Alicia,  that  Mary  has  always  lived 
here.  It  is  in  a  truer  sense  her  home  than  mine, 
but  she  would  go  directly  if  either  you  or  she  found 
it  disagreeable.  Had  you  not  assented  so  cordially 
she  would  never  have  stayed." 

"  Don't  imply  extravagant  things,  Peter.  Who 
thinks  of  her  going  ?  " 

"She  would — \iyou  made  it  disagreeable." 

"  I  ?  I  do  nothing.  Surely  Mary  won't  want  to 
go  because  she  scolds  me." 

"  Come,  Ally,  surely  you  don't  get  scolded — more 
than  is  good  for  you."  Odd  smiled  down  at  her. 
Her  burnished  head  was  on  a  level  with  his  eyes. 
21 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCMINARD 

11  Like  everybody  else,  you  are  not  perfection,  and, 
as  Mary  is  somewhat  of  a  disciplinarian,  you  ought 
to  take  her  lectures  in  a  humble  spirit,  and  be 
thankful.  I  do.  Mary  is  so  much  nearer  perfection 
than  I  am." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  bored  here,  Peter."  Alicia 
left  the  subject  of  Mary  for  a  still  more  intimate 
grievance. 

"  The  art  of  not  being  bored  requires  patience, 
not  to  say  genius.  It  can  be  learned  though.  And 
there  are  worse  things  than  being  bored." 

"  I  think  I  could  bear  anything  better." 

"What  would  you  like,  Ally?"  Odd's  voice 
held  a  certain  hopefulness.  "  I  '11  do  anything  I 
can,  you  know.  I  believe  in  a  woman's  individuality 
and  all  that.  Does  your  life  down  here  crush  your 
individuality,  Alicia  ?  " 

Again  Odd  smiled  down  at  her,  conscious  of  an 
inward  bitterness. 

"  Joke  away,  Peter.  You  know  how  much  I  care 
for  all  that  woman  business — rights  and  movements 
and  individualities  and  all  that ;  a  silly  claiming  of 
more  duties  that  do  no  good  when  they  're  done. 
I  am  an  absolutely  banal  person,  Peter ;  my  mind 
to  me  is  n't  a  kingdom.  I  like  outside  things.  I 
like  gayety,  change,  diversion.  I  don't  like  days 
one  after  the  other — like  sheep — and  I  don't  like 
sheep  !  " 

They  had  passed  through  the  shrubbery,  and 
before  them  were  meadows  dotted  with  the  harm- 
less animals  that  had  suggested  Mrs.  Odd's 
simile. 

"  Well,   we   won't   look   at   the   sheep.      I    own 

22 


PETER  ODD 

that  they  savor  strongly  of  bucolic  immutability. 
You  Ve  had  plenty  of  London  for  the  past  year, 
Ally,  and  Nice  and  Monte  Carlo.  The  sheep  are 
really  the  change." 

"  You  had  better  go  in  for  a  seat  in  Parliament, 
Peter." 

"  Longings  for  a  political  salon,  Ally  ?  I  have 
hardly  time  for  my  scribbling  and  landlording  as 
it  is." 

"  A  salon  !  Nothing  would  bore  me  so  much  as 
being  clever  and  keeping  it  up.  No,  I  like  seeing 
people  and  being  seen,  and  dancing  and  all  that.  I 
am  absolutely  banal,  as  I  tell  you." 

"  Well,  you  shall  have  London  next  year.  We  '11 
go  up  for  the  season." 

"  You  took  me  for  what  I  was,  Peter,"  Mrs.  Odd 
remarked  as  they  retraced  their  steps  towards  the 
house.  "  I  have  never  pretended,  have  I  ?  You 
knew  that  I  was  a  society  beauty  and  that  only.  I 
am  a  very  shallow  person,  I  suppose,  Peter ;  I  cer- 
tainly can't  pretend  to  have  depths — even  to  give 
Mary  satisfaction.  It  would  be  too  uncomfortable. 
Why  did  you  fall  in  love  with  me,  Peter  ?  It 
wasn't  en  caracttre  a  bit,  you  know." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  was,  Ally.  I  fell  in  love  with  you 
because  you  were  beautiful.  Why  did  you  fall  in 
love  with  me  ?  " 

The  mockery  with  which  Alicia's  smile  was 
tinged  deepened  into  a  good-humored  laugh  at  her 
own  expense. 

"  Well,  Peter,  I  don't  think  any  one  before  made 
me  feel  that  they  thought  me  so  beautiful.  I  am 
vain,  you  know.  Your  enthusiasm  was  awfully 
23 


THE  DUCL"  MISS  ARCHINARD 

flattering.  I  am  very  sorry  you  idealized  me,  Petef, 
I  am  sure  you  idealized  me.  Shall  we  go  in  ? 
Lunch  must  be  ready,  and  you  must  be  hungrier 
than  ever." 

24 


CHAPTER  III 

AT  four  that  afternoon  Odd,  his  wife,  and  Mary 
started  for  the  Archinards'  house.  Mary  had 
offered  to  join  her  brother ;  the  prospect  of  the  walk 
together  was  very  pleasant.  She  could  not  object 
when  Alicia,  at  the  last  moment,  announced  her  in- 
tention of  going  too. 

"  I  have  never  been  to  see  her.  I  should  like  the 
walk,  and  Mary  will  approve  of  the  fulfilment  of  my 
duty  towards  my  neighbor." 

Mary's  prospects  were  decidedly  nipped  in  the 
bud,  as  Alicia  perhaps  intended  that  they  should 
be  ;  but  Alicia's  avowed  motive  was  so  praiseworthy 
that  Mary  allowed  herself  only  an  inner  discontent, 
and,  what  with  her  good-humored  demeanor,  Odd's 
placid  chat  of  crops  and  tenantry,  and  Alicia's  ac- 
quiescent beauty,  the  trio  seemed  to  enjoy  the  mile 
of  beechwood  and  country  road  and  the  short  sweep 
of  prettily  wooded  drive  that  led  to  Allersley  Priory, 
a  square  stone  house  covered  with  vines  of  magnolia 
and  wisteria,  and  incorporating  in  its  walls,  accord- 
ing to  tradition,  portions  of  the  old  Priory  which 
once  occupied  the  site.  From  the  back  of  the  house 
sloped  a  wide  expanse  of  lawn  and  shrubberies,  and 
past  it  ran  the  river  that  half  a  mile  further  on  flowed 
out  of  Captain  Archinard's  little  property  into  Odd's. 
25 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

The  drawing-room  was  on  the  groundfloor,  and  its 
windows  opened  on  this  view. 

Mrs.  Archinard  and  the  Captain  were  talking  to 
young  Lord  Allan  Hope,  eldest  son  of  Lord  Main- 
waring.  Mrs.  Archinard's  invalidism  was  evidently 
not  altogether  fictitious.  She  had  a  look  of  at  once 
extreme  fragility  and  fading  beauty.  One  knew 
at  the  first  glance  that  she  was  a  woman  to  have 
cushions  behind  her  and  her  back  to  the  light. 
There  was  no  character  in  the  delicate  head,  unless 
one  can  call  a  passive  determination  to  do  or  feel 
nothing  that  required  energy,  character. 

The  two  little  girls  came  in  while  Odd  talked 
to  their  father.  They  were  dressed  alike  in  white 
muslins.  Katherine's  gown  reached  her  ankles ; 
Hilda's  was  still  at  the  mi-jambe  stage.  Their  long 
hair  fell  about  their  faces  in  childlike  fashion.  Kath- 
erine's was  brown  and  strongly  rippled ;  Hilda's 
softly,  duskily,  almost  bluely  black ;  it  grew  in 
charming  curves  and  eddies  about  her  forehead,  and 
framed  her  little  face  and  long  slim  neck  in  straightly 
falling  lines. 

Katherine  gave  Odd  her  hand  with  a  little  air  that 
reminded  him  of  a  Velasquez  Infanta  holding  out  a 
flower. 

"  You  were  splendid  this  morning,  Mr.  Odd.  That 
hole  was  no  joke,  and  Hilda  swallowed  lots  of  water 
as  it  was.  She  might  easily  have  been  drowned," 

Katherine  was  certainly  not  pretty,  but  her  deeply 
set  black  eyes  had  a  dominant  directness.  She  held 
her  head  up,  and  her  smile  was  charming — a  little 
girl's  smile,  yet  touched  with  the  conscious  power 
of  a  clever  woman.  Odd  felt  that  the  child  was 
26 


PETER  ODD 

clever,  and  that  the  woman  would  be  cleverer.  He 
felt,  too,  that  the  black  eyes  were  lit  with  just  a  spice 
of  fun  as  they  looked  into  his  as  though  she  knew 
that  he  knew,  and  they  both  knew  together,  that 
Hilda  had  not  been  in  much  danger,  and  that  his 
ducking  had  been  only  conventionally  "  splendid." 

"  Hilda  wants  to  thank  you  herself,  don't  you, 
Hilda?  She  had  such  a  horrid  time  altogether  ;  you 
were  a  sort  of  Perseus  to  her,  and  papa  the  sea  mon- 
ster ! "  Then  Katherine,  having,  as  it  were,  intro- 
duced and  paved  the  way  for  her  sister,  went  back 
across  the  room  again,  and  stood  by  young  Allan 
Hope  while  he  talked  to  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Odd. 

Hilda  seemed  really  in  no  need  of  an  introduction. 
She  was  not  shy,  though  she  evidently  had  not  her 
sister's  ready  mastery  of  what  to  say,  and  how  to 
say  it.  Odd  was  rather  glad  of  this  ;  he  had  found 
Katherine's  aplomb  almost  disconcerting. 

"  I  do  thank  you  very  much."  She  put  her  hand 
into  Odd's  as  he  spoke,  and  left  it  there  ;  the  con- 
fiding little  action  emphasized  her  childlikeness. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  as  you  went  down  ?  "  he 
asked  her. 

"In  the  river?  "  A  shade  of  retrospective  terror 
crossed  her  face. 

"  No,  no  !  we  won't  talk  about  the  river,  will  we  ?  " 
Odd  said  quickly.  However  funny  Katherine's 
greater  common  sense  had  found  the  incident,  it  had 
not  been  funny  to  Hilda.  "  Have  you  lived  here 
long  ? "  he  asked.  Captain  Archinard  had  joined 
Mrs.  Odd,  and  with  an  admirer  on  either  side,  Alicia 
was  enjoying  herself.  "  I  have  never  seen  you  be- 
fore, you  know." 

27 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  We  have  lived  here  since  my  uncle  died  ;  about 
eight  years  ago,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  just  about  the  time  that  I  left  Allersley." 

"  Did  n't  you  like  Allersley  ?  "  Hilda  asked,  with 
some  wonder. 

"  Oh,  very  much  ;  and  my  father  was  here,  so  I 
often  came  back  ;  but  I  lived  in  London  and  Paris, 
where  I  could  work  at  things  that  interested  me." 

"  I  have  been  twice  in  London ;  I  went  to  the 
National  Gallery." 

"You  liked  that?" 

"  Oh,  very  much."  She  was  a  quiet  little  girl, 
and  spoke  quietly,  her  wide  gentle  gaze  on  Odd. 

"  And  what  else  did  you  like  in  London  ?  " 

Hilda  smiled  a  little,  as  if  conscious  that  she  was 
being  put  through  the  proper  routine  of  questions, 
but  a  trustful  smile,  quite  willing  to  give  all  infor- 
mation asked  for. 

"  The  Three  Fates." 

"  You  mean  the  Elgin  Marbles  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  no  heads ;  but  one  is  rather  glad  they 
have  n't." 

"  Why?  "  asked  Odd,  as  she  paused.  Hilda  did 
not  seem  sure  of  her  own  reason. 

"  Perhaps  they  would  be  too  beautiful  with  heads," 
she  suggested.  "  Do  you  like  dogs?"  she  added, 
suddenly  turning  the  tables  on  him. 

"  Yes,  I  love  dogs,"  Odd  replied,  with  sincere 
enthusiasm. 

"  Three  of  our  dogs  are  out  there  on  the  verandah, 
if  you  would  care  to  know  them  ?  " 

"  I  should  very  much.     Perhaps  you  '11  show  me 
the  garden  too  ;  it  looks  very  jolly." 
28 


PETER  ODD 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  look  at  his  extraordinarily 
pretty  little  Andromeda,  and  he  was  quite  willing 
to  spend  the  rest  of  his  visit  with  her.  They  went 
out  on  the  verandah,  where,  in  the  awning's  shade, 
lay  two  very  nice  fox  terriers.  A  dachshund  sat 
gazing  out  upon  the  sunlit  lawn  in  a  dog's  dignified 
reverie. 

"  Jack  and  Vic,"  Hilda  said,  pointing  out  the  two 
fox  terriers.  "  They  just  belong  to  the  whole  family, 
you  know.  And  this  dear  old  fellow  is  Palamon  ; 
Arcite  is  somewhere  about ;  they  are  mine." 

"  Who  named  yours  ?  " 

"  I  did — after  I  read  it ;  they  had  other  names 
when  they  were  given  to  me,  but  as  I  had  never 
called  them  by  them,  I  thought  I  had  a  right  to 
change  them.  I  wanted  names  with  associations, 
like  Katherine's  setters  ;  they  are  called  Darwin  and 
Spencer,  because  Katherine  is  very  fond  of  science." 

"  Oh,  is  she  ?  "  said  Odd,  rather  stupefied.  "  You 
seem  to  have  a  great  many  dogs  in  couples." 

"  The  others  are  not ;  they  are  more  general  dogs, 
like  Jack  and  Vic." 

Hilda  still  held  Odd's  hand  :  she  stooped  to  stroke 
Arcite's  pensive  head,  giving  the  fox  terriers  a  pat 
as  they  passed  them. 

"  So  you  are  fond  of  Chaucer  ?  "  Odd  said.  They 
crossed  the  gravel  path  and  stepped  on  the  lawn. 

"Yes,  indeed,  he  is  my  favorite  poet.  I  have  not 
read  all,  you  know,  but  especially  the  Knight's  Tale." 

"  That's  your  favorite  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  what  is  your  favorite  part  of  the  Knight's 
Tale  ?  " 

29 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  The  part  where  Arcite  dies." 

"You  like  that?" 

"  Oh  !  so  much  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"Very  much;  as  much,  perhaps,  as  anything 
ever  written.  There  never  was  a  more  perfect 
piece  of  pathos.  Perhaps  you  remember  it."  He 
was  rather  curious  to  know  how  deep  was  this  love 
for  Chaucer. 

"  I  learnt  it  by  heart ;  I  have  n't  a  good  memory, 
but  I  liked  it  so  much." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  say  it  to  me." 

Hilda  looked  up  a  little  shyly. 

"  Oh,  I  can't !  "  she  exclaimed  timidly. 

"  Cant  you  ?  "  and  Odd  looked  down  at  her  a 
humorously  pleading  interrogation. 

"  I  can't  say  things  well ;  and  it  is  too  sad  to  say 
— one  can  just  bear  to  read  it." 

"  Just  bear  to  say  it — this  once,"  Odd  entreated. 

They  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  lawn,  and  stood 
on  the  grassy  brink  of  the  river.  Hilda  looked  down 
into  the  clear  running  of  the  water. 

"  Isn't  it  pretty?  I  don't  like  deep  water,  where 
one  can't  see  the  bottom ;  here  the  grasses  and  the 
pebbles  are  as  distinct  as  possible,  and  the  minnows 
— don't  you  like  to  see  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  Arcite.     Don't  make  me  tease  you." 

Hilda  evidently  determined  not  to  play  the  coward 
a  second  time.  The  quiet  pressure  of  Odd's  hand 
was  encouraging,  and  in  a  gentle,  monotonous  little 
voice  that,  with  the  soft  breeze,  the  quickly  running 
sunlit  river,  went  into  Odd's  consciousness  as  a 
quaint,  ineffaceable  impression  of  sweetness  and  sad- 
ness, she  recited : — 

30 


PETER  ODD 

"  Alias  the  wo !  alias  the  peynes  stronge, 
That  I  for  you  have  suffered,  and  so  longe ! 
Alias  the  deth  !  alias  myn  Emelye ! 
Alias  departing  of  our  companye  I 
Alias  myn  hertes  quene  !  alias,  my  wyf ! 
Myn  hertes  lady,  endere  of  my  lyf ! 
What  is  this  world  ?     What  asketh  man  to  have  ? 
Now  with  his  love,  now  in  his  colde  grave 
Allone,  withouten  any  companye." 

Odd's  artistic  sensibilities  were  very  keen.  He 
felt  that  painfully  delicious  constriction  of  the  throat 
that  the  beautiful  in  art  can  give,  especially  the 
beautiful  in  tragic  art.  The  far-away  tale ;  the  far- 
away tongue  ;  the  nearness  of  the  pathos,  poignant 
in  its  "  white  simplicity."  And  how  well  the  monot- 
onous little  voice  suited  its  melancholy. 

"  Allone,  withouten  any  companye," 

he  repeated.  He  looked  down  at  Hilda  ;  he  had 
tactfully  avoided  looking  at  her  while  she  spoke,  fear- 
ing to  embarrass  her ;  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Thanks,  Hilda,"  he  said.  It  struck  him  that 
this  highly  strung  little  girl  had  best  not  be  allowed 
to  dwell  too  long  on  Arcite  and,  after  a  sympathetic 
pause  (Odd  was  a  very  sympathetic  person),  he 
added : 

"  Now  are  you  going  to  take  me  into  the  garden  ?  " 

"Yes."  Hilda  turned  from  the  river.  "You 
know  he  had  just  gained  her,  that  made  it  all  the 
worse.  If  he  had  not  loved  her  he  would  not  have 
minded  dying  so  much,  and  being  alone.  One  can 
hardly  bear  it,"  Hilda  repeated. 

"  It  is  intensely  sad.  I  don't  think  you  ought  to 
have  learned  it  by  heart,  Hilda.  That 's  ungrateful 
31 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

of  me,  is  n't  it  ?  But  I  am  old  enough  to  take  an 
impersonal  pleasure  in  sad  things  ;  I  am  afraid  they 
make  you  sad." 

Hilda's  half-wondering  smile  was  reassuringly 
childlike. 

"  Oh,  but  it 's  nice  being  sad  like  that." 

Odd  reflected,  as  they  went  into  the  garden,  that 
she  had  put  herself  into  his  category. 

After  the  shadow  of  the  shrubberies  through  which 
they  passed,  the  fragrant  sunlight  was  dazzling. 
Rows  of  sweet  peas,  their  mauves  and  pinks  and 
whites  like  exquisite  musical  motives,  ran  across  the 
delicious  old  garden.  A  border  of  deep  purple  pan- 
sies  struck  a  beautifully  meditative  chord.  Flowers 
always  affected  Odd  musically ;  he  half  closed  his 
eyes  to  look  at  the  sweeps  of  sun-flooded  color.  A 
medley  of  Schumann  and  Beethoven  sang  through 
his  head  as  he  glanced  down,  smiling  at  Hilda  Ar- 
chinard ;  her  gently  responsive  little  smile  was  fun- 
nily comprehensive  ;  one  might  imagine  that  tunes 
were  going  through  her  head  too. 

"Isn't  it  jolly,  Hilda?" 

"  Very  jolly,"  she  laughed,  and,  as  they  walked 
between  the  pansy  borders  she  kept  her  gentle  smile 
and  her  gentle  stare  up  at  his  appreciative  face. 

She  thought  his  smile  so  nice ;  his  teeth,  which 
crowded  forward  a  little,  lent  it  perhaps  its  peculiar 
sweetness ;  his  eyelids,  drooping  at  the  outer  corners, 
gave  the  curious  look  of  humorous  sadness  to  the 
expression  of  his  brown  eyes.  His  moustache  was 
cut  shortly  on  his  upper  lip,  and  showed  the  rather 
quizzical  line  of  his  mouth.  Hilda,  unconsciously, 
enumerated  this  catalogue  of  impressions, 
32 


PETER  ODD 

"  What  fine  strawberries,"  said  Odd.  "  I  like  the 
fragrance  almost  more  than  the  flavor." 

"  But  won't  you  taste  them  ?  "  Hilda  dropped 
his  hand  to  skip  lightly  into  the  strawberry  bed. 
"  They  are  ripe,  lots  of  them,"  she  announced,  and 
she  came  running  back,  her  outstretched  hands  full 
of  the  summer  fruit,  red,  but  for  the  tips,  still  un- 
tinted.  The  sunlit  white  frock,  the  long  curves  of 
black  hair,  the  white  face,  slim  black  legs,  and  the 
spots  of  crimson  color  made  a  picture — a  sunshiny 
Whistler. 

Odd  accepted  the  strawberries  gratefully ;  they 
were  very  fine. 

"I  don't  think  you  can  have  them  better  at 
Allersley  Manor,"  said  Hilda,  smiling. 

"I  don't  think  mine  are  as  good.  Won't  you 
come  some  day  to  Allersley  Manor  and  compare  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  very  much." 

"  Then  you  and  Miss  Katherine  shall  be  formally 
invited  to  tea,  with  the  understanding  that  after- 
wards the  strawberry  beds  are  to  be  invaded." 

"  I  should  like  to  very  much,"  Hilda  repeated. 

"Hullo!  Don't  make  me  feel  a  pig !  Eat  some 
yourself,"  said  Odd,  who  had  finished  one  handful. 

"  No,  no,  I  picked  them  for  you." 

Odd  took  her  disengaged  hand  in  his  as  they 
walked  on  again,  Hilda  resisting  at  first. 

"  It  is  so  sticky." 

"  I  don't  mind  that :  it  is  very  generous."  She 
laughed  at  the  extravagance. 

"  And  what  do  you  do  all  day  besides  swimming  ?  " 
Odd  asked. 

"  We  have  lessons  with  our  governess.  She  is 
3  33 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

strict,  but  a  splendid  teacher.  Katherine  is  quite  a 
first-rate  Latin  scholar." 

"  Is  Katherine  fond  of  Chaucer  ?  " 

"  Katherine  cares  more  for  science  and — and 
philosophy."  Hilda  spoke  with  a  respectful  gravity. 
"That's  why  she  called  her  dogs  Darwin  and 
Spencer.  She  has  n't  read  any  of  Spencer  yet,  but 
of  course  he  is  a  great  philosopher.  She  knows  that, 
and  she  has  read  a  good  deal  of  a  big  book  by  Dar- 
win, '  The  Origin  of  Species,'  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know."  Odd  found  Katherine  even  more 
startling  than  her  sister. 

"  I  tried  to  read  it,  but  it  was  so  confusing — 
about  selection  and  cabbages — I  don't  see  how 
cabbages  can  select,  do  you?"  Hilda's  voice  held 
a  reminiscent  vagueness.  "  Katherine  says  that  she 
did  not  care  for  it  much,  but  she  thought  she  ought 
to  look  through  it  if  she  wanted  a  foundation  ;  she 
is  very  keen  on  foundations,  and  she  says  Darwin  is 
the  foundation-key — or  corner-stone — no,  keystone 
to  the  arch  of  modern  science — at  least  she  did  not 
say  so,  but  she  read  me  that  from  her  journal." 

"  Oh  !  Katherine  wrote  that,  did  she  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  but  you  must  n't  think  that  Katherine  is  a 
blue-stocking."  Something  in  Odd's  tone  made 
Hilda  fear  misunderstanding.  "  She  loves  sports  of 
all  kinds,  and  fun.  She  goes  across  country  as  well 
as  any  woman — that  is  what  Lord  Mainwaring  said 
of  her  last  winter  during  fox-hunting.  She  is  n't 
afraid  of  anything." 

"  And  what  else  do  you  do  besides  lessons  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  read  and  walk ;  there  are  such  famous 
walks  all  about  here,  walks  in  woods  and  on  hills. 
34 


PETER  ODD 

I  don't  care  for  roads,  do  you  ?     And  I  stay  with 
mamma  and  read  to  her  when  she  is  tired." 

"And  Katherine?  " 

"She  is  more  with  papa."  In  her  heart  Hilda 
said :  "  He  loves  her  best,"  but  of  that  she  could  not 
speak,  even  to  this  new  friend  who  seemed  already 
so  near ;  to  no  one  could  she  hint  of  that  ache  in 
her  heart  of  which  jealousy  formed  no  part,  for  it 
was  natural  that  papa  should  love  Katherine  best, 
that  every  one  should  ;  she  was  so  gay  and  cour- 
ageous ;  but  though  it  was  natural  that  Katherine 
should  be  loved  best,  it  was  hard  to  be  loved  least. 

"You  are  by  yourself  a  good  deal,  then?"  said 
Odd.  "  Do  you  walk  by  yourself,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  the  dogs.  I  used  to  have  grand- 
mamma, you  know  ;  she  died  a  year  ago." 

"  Oh,  yes  !     Mrs.  Archinard's  mother." 

Hilda  nodded  ;  her  grasp  on  Odd's  hand  tightened 
and  they  walked  in  silence.  Odd  remembered  the 
fine  portrait  of  a  lady  in  the  drawing-room  ;  he  had 
noticed  its  likeness  and  unlikeness  to  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard  ;  a  delicate  face,  but  with  an  Emersonian  ex- 
pression of  self-reliance,  a  puritan  look  of  stanch- 
ness  and  responsibility. 

35 


CHAPTER  IV 

ON  the  way  home,  cool  evening  shadows  slant- 
ing across  the  road,  Alicia  declared  that  she 
had  really  enjoyed  herself. 

"  Captain  Archinard  is  quite  jolly.  He  has  seen 
everybody  and  everything  under  the  sun.  He  is 
most  entertaining,  and  Lord  Allan  is  remarkably 
uncallow." 

"  He  thinks  of  standing  for  Parliament  next  year. 
A  nice,  steady,  honest  young  fellow.  How  do  you 
like  the  Archinards,  Peter  ?  " 

"  The  child— Hilda— is  a  dear  child." 

"  She  is  awfully  pretty,"  said  Alicia,  who  could 
afford  to  be  generous;  "  I  like  that  colorless  type." 

"  She  is  delicate,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mary. 

"  She  has  the  mouth  of  a  Botticelli  Madonna  and 
the  eyes  of  a  Gainsborough ;  you  know  the  portrait 
of  Sheridan's  wife  at  Dulwich?  " 

Alicia  had  never  been  to  Dulwich.    Mary  assented. 

"  The  other  one — the  ugly  one — is  very  clever," 
Alicia  went  on  ;  she  was  in  a  good  temper  evidently. 
Not  that  Alicia  was  ever  exactly  bad-tempered. 
"  She  said  some  very  clever  things  and  looked 
more." 

"  She  is  too  clever  perhaps,"  Mary  remarked. 
"  As  for  Mrs.  Archinard,  I  should  like  to  slap  her, 
I  think  that  my  conventionality  is  of  a  tolerant 
36 


PETER  ODD 

order,  but  Mrs.  Archinard's  efforts  at  aesthetic  orig- 
inality make  me  feel  grimly  conventional." 

"  Mary  !  Mary !  how  delightful  to  hear  such  un- 
charitable remarks  from  you.  /should  rather  like 
to  slap  her  too,  though  she  struck  me  as  awfully 
conventional." 

"  Oh,  she  is,  practically.  It  is  the  artistic  argot 
that  bores  one  so  much." 

"  She  is  awfully  self-satisfied  too.  Dear  me, 
Peter,  I  wish  we  had  driven  after  all.  I  hate  the 
next  half-mile.  It  is  just  uphill  enough  to  be  irri- 
tating— fatigue  without  realizing  exactly  the  cause 
of  it.  Why  didn't  we  drive,  Peter?  " 

"  I  thought  we  all  preferred  walking.  You  are  a 
very  energetic  young  person  as  a  rule." 

"  Not  for  tiresome  country  roads.  They  should 
be  got  over  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"  Well,  we  will  cut  through  the  beech-woods  as 
we  came." 

"  Oh  dear,"  Alicia  yawned,  "  how  tired  I  am 
already  of  those  tiresome  beech-woods.  I  wish  it 
were  autumn  and  that  the  hunting  had  begun. 
Captain  Archinard  gives  me  glowing  accounts,  and 
promises  me  a  lead  for  the  first  good  run.  We  must 
fill  the  house  with  people  then,  Peter." 

"  The  house  shall  be  filled  to  overflowing.  Per- 
haps you  would  like  some  one  now.  Mrs.  Laughton 
and  her  girls  ;  you  like  them,  don't  you  ?  " 

Alicia  wrinkled  up  her  charming  nose. 

"  Can't  say   I  do.     I  've  stopped  with  them  too 
much  perhaps.     They  bore  me.     I  am  afraid  no  one 
would    come  just   now,    everything   is    so   gay    in 
London.     I  wish  I  were  there." 
37 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

Alicia  was  not  there  because  the  doctor  had 
strongly  advised  country  air  and  the  simple  inaction 
of  country  life.  Alicia  had  lost  her  baby  only  three 
weeks  after  its  birth — two  months  ago — and  had 
herself  been  very  ill. 

"  But  I  think  I  shall  write  to  some  people  and  ask 
them  to  take  pity  on  me,"  she  added,  as  they 
walked  slowly  through  the  woods.  "  Sir  John,  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Damian,  Gladys  le  Breton,  and  Lord 
Calverly." 

"  Well !  "  Peter  spoke  in  his  usual  tone  of  easy 
acquiescence. 

Mary  walked  on  a  little  ahead.  What  good  did 
it  do  to  trouble  her  brother  uselessly  by  her  im- 
patient look?  But  how  could  Peter  yield  so 
placidly  ?  Mary  respected  him  too  much  to  allow 
herself  an  evil  thought  of  his  wife  ;  but  Alicia  was 
a  person  to  be  talked  about.  Mary  did  not  doubt 
that  she  had  been  talked  about  already,  and  would 
be  more  so  if  she  were  not  careful. 

Lord  Calverly  and  Sir  John  dangling  attendance 
would  infallibly  cause  comment  on  any  woman — 
let  alone  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Odd.  Yet  Peter  said, 
"  Well ! " 

33 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  evening  did  not  pass  pleasantly  at  the 
Priory.  Captain  Archinard's  jolliness  did  not 
extend  to  family  relationships ;  he  often  found 
family  relationships  a  bore,  and  the  contrasted 
stodginess  of  his  own  surroundings  seemed  greater 
after  Mrs.  Odd's  departure. 

He  muttered  and  fumed  about  the  drawing-room 
after  dinner. 

He  was  confoundedly  pinched  for  money,  and 
upon  his  word  he  would  not  be  surprised  if  he 
should  have  to  sell  the  horses.  "And  what  my 
life  will  be  stuck  down  here  without  the  hunting,  I 
can't  imagine.  Damnable  !  " 

The  Captain  growled  out  the  last  word  under  his 
breath  in  consideration  of  Katherine  and  Hilda, 
who  had  joined  their  father  and  mother  after  their 
own  tea  and  a  game  of  lawn-tennis.  But  Mrs. 
Archinard  was  not  the  woman  to  allow  to  pass  un- 
noticed such  a  well-founded  cause  of  grievance. 

With  a  look  of  delicate  disgust  she  laid  down  the 
volume  of  Turgenieff  that  she  was  reading. 

"  Shall  I  send  the  children  away,  Charles?  Either 
they  or  you  had  best  go,  if  you  are  going  to  talk 
like  that." 

"  Beg  pardon,"  said  the  Captain  shortly.  "  No, 
of  course  they  don't  go." 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  few  enough  enjoyments  with- 
39 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

out  being  made  to  suffer  because  you  are  to  lose 
one  of  yours." 

"Who  asks  you  to  suffer,  Kate?  But  you  don't 
wait  for  the  asking.  You  're  only  too  willing  to  offer 
yourself  as  a  souffre-douleur  on  all  occasions." 

Then  Mrs.  Archinard  retired  behind  her  book  in 
scornful  resignation  and,  after  twenty  minutes  of 
silence,  the  little  girls  were  very  glad  to  get  away 
to  bed. 

Hilda  was  just  undressed  when  Mrs.  Archinard 
sent  for  her  to  come  to  her  room.  Her  head  ached, 
and  Hilda  must  brush  her  hair ;  it  was  early  yet. 
This  was  a  customary  task,  and  one  that  Hilda 
prided  herself  upon  accomplishing  with  sovereign 
beneficence.  Taylor's  touch  irritated  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard ;  Hilda  only  was  soothing. 

In  dressing-gown  and  slippers  she  ran  to  her 
mother's  room. 

Mrs.  Archinard's  long  hair — as  black  and  as  fine 
as  Hilda's — fell  over  the  back  of  the  large  arm-chair 
in  which  she  reclined. 

"Such  a  headache!"  she  sighed,  as  Hilda  took 
up  the  brush  and  began  to  pass  it  slowly  and  gently 
down  the  length  of  hair.  "  It  is  really  brutal  of  your 
father  to  forget  my  head  as  he  does." 

Hilda's  heart  sank.  The  unideal  attitude  of  her 
father  and  mother  toward  one  another  was  one  of 
her  great  sorrows.  Papa  was  certainly  fond  of  his 
pretty  wife,  but  he  was  so  fretful  and  impatient,  and 
mamma  so  continually  grieved.  It  was  all  wrong. 
Hilda  had  already  begun  to  pass  judgment,  uncon- 
sciously, on  her  father ;  but  her  almost  maternal 
tenderness  for  her  mother  as  yet  knew  no  doubt. 
40 


PETER  ODD 

"  It  would  be  very  dreadful  if  the  horses  had  to 
go,  would  n't  it  ?  "  she  said.  Her  father's  bad  temper 
might  be  touching  if  its  cause  were  suggested. 

"  Of  course  it  would  ;  and  so  are  most  things 
dreadful.  I  am  sure  that  life  is  nothing  but  dread- 
fulness  in  every  form."  Yet  Mrs.  Archinard  was 
not  at  all  an  unhappy  woman.  Her  life  was  deli- 
cately epicurean.  She  had  few  wants,  but  those 
few  were  never  thwarted.  From  the  early  cup  of 
exquisite  tea  brought  to  her  bedside,  through  all 
the  day  of  dilettante  lounging  over  a  clever  book — 
a  day  relieved  from  monotony  by  pleasant  episodes 
— dainty  dishes  especially  prepared,  visits  from  ac- 
quaintances, with  whom  she  had  a  reputation  for 
languid  cynicism  and  quite  awesome  literary  and 
artistic  cleverness — to  this  hour  of  hair-brushing, 
few  of  her  moments  were  not  consciously  apprecia- 
tive of  the  most  finely  flavored  mental  and  physical 
enjoyment.  But  the  causes  for  enjoyment  certainly 
seemed  so  slight  that  Mrs.  Archinard's  graceful 
pessimism  usually  met  with  universal  sympathy. 
Hilda  was  very  sorry  for  her  mother.  To  lie  all 
day  reading  dreary  books ;  condemned  to  an  in- 
action that  cut  her  off  from  all  the  delights  of  out- 
door life,  seemed  to  her  tragic.  Mrs.  Archinard  did 
not  undeceive  her;  indeed,  perhaps,  the  most  fasci- 
nating of  Mrs.  Archinard's  artistic  occupations  was 
to  fancy  herself  very  tragic.  Hilda  went  back  to 
her  room  much  depressed. 

The  girls  slept  together,  and  Katherine  was  sitting 
up  in  her  night-gown  writing  her  journal  by  candle- 
light and  enjoying  a  sense  of  talent  flowing  at  all 
costs — for  writing  by  candlelight  was  strictly  for- 
41 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

bidden — as  she  dotted  down  what  she  felt  to  be  a 
very  original  and  pungent  account  of  the  day  and 
the  people  it  had  introduced. 

When,  however,  she  heard  the  patter  of  Hilda's 
heedless  slippers  in  the  corridor,  she  blew  out  the 
candle  in  a  hurry,  pinched  the  glowing  wick,  and 
skipped  into  bed.  She  might  take  an  artistic 
pleasure  in  braving  rules,  but  Katherine  knew  that 
Hilda  would  have  shown  an  almost  dull  amazement 
at  her  occupation ;  and  although  Katherine  charac- 
terized it  as  dull,  she  did  not  care  to  arouse  it.  She 
wished  to  stand  well  in  Hilda's  eyes  in  all  things. 
Hilda  must  find  nothing  to  criticise  in  her  either 
mentally  or  morally. 

"  What  shall  we  do  if  the  horses  are  sold  ?  "  she 
exclaimed,  as  Hilda  got  into  the  little  bed  beside 
hers.  "  Only  imagine  !  no  hunting  next  winter  !  at 
least,  none  for  us  !  " 

"  Poor  papa,"  Hilda  sighed. 

"  Oh,  you  may  be  sure  that  he  will  keep  one 
hunter  at  least,  but  of  course  he  will  be  dreadfully 
cut  of!  from  it  with  only  one,  and  of  course  our 
horses  will  have  to  go  if  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst.  You  won't  miss  it  as  much  as  I  will,  Hilda  ; 
the  riding,  yes,  no  doubt,  but  not  the  hunting.  Still 
Lord  Mainwaring  will  give  us  a  mount,  and  now 
that  Mr.  Odd  is  here,  he  will  be  sure  to  have  a  lot 
of  horses.  The  old  squire  let  everything  of  that 
sort  run  down  so,  Miss  Odd  had  only  two  hunt- 
ers. Well,  Hilda,  and  what  do  you  think  of  Mr. 
Odd  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  love  him,  Katherine  !  "  Hilda  lay  looking 
with  wide  eyes  into  the  soft  darkness  of  the  room. 
42 


PETER  ODD 

The  windows  were  open,  and  the  drawn  chintz  cur- 
tains flapped  gently  against  the  sills. 

"  I  would  n't  say  that  if  I  were  you,  Hilda," 
Katherine  remarked,  with  some  disapproval. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Hilda's  voice  held  an  alarmed  note. 
Katherine  was,  to  a  great  extent,  her  mentor. 

"  It  does  n't  sound  very — dignified.  Of  course 
you  are  only  a  little  girl,  but  still — one  does  n't  say 
such  things." 

"  But  I  do  love  him  ;  how  can  one  help  loving  a 
person  who  treats  one  so  kindly.  And  then — any- 
way— even  if  he  had  not  been  kind  to  me  I  should 
love  him,  I  think." 

Hilda  would  have  liked  to  be  able  properly  to 
analyze  her  sensations  and  win  her  sister's  approval ; 
but  how  explain  clearly  ? 

"  That  would  be  rather  foolish,"  Katherine  said, 
in  a  tone  of  kind  but  restraining  wisdom ;  "  one 
should  n't  let  one's  feelings  run  away  with  one  like 
that.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  7  think  about  Mr.  Odd  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  please." 

"  I  think  he  is  like  the  river  where  we  jumped  in 
to-day — ripples  on  the  top,  kindness  and  smiles, 
you  know — but  somewhere  in  his  heart  a  big  hole 
— a  hole  with  stones  and  weeds  in  it."  Katherine 
was  quoting  from  her  journal,  but  Hilda  might  as 
well  think  the  simile  improvised :  Katherine  felt 
some  pride  in  it ;  it  certainly  justified,  she  thought, 
the  conventionally  illicit  act  of  the  candle. 

Hilda  lay  in  silent  admiration. 

"  Oh,  Katherine,  I  never  know  how  I  feel  things 
till  you  tell  me  like  that,"  she  said  at  last.  "  How 
beautiful !  Yes,  I  am  sure  he  has  a  hole  in  his 
43 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

heart."    And  tears  came  into  Hilda's  eyes  and  into 
her  mind  the  line  : — 

"  Allone,  withouten  any  companye." 

"  As  for  Mrs.  Odd,"  Katherine  continued,  pleased 
with  the  success  of  her  psychology,  "  she  has  no 
heart  to  make  a  hole  in." 

"  Katherine,  do  you  think  so?     How  dreadful !  " 

"  She  is  a  thorough  egotist.  She  does  n't  know 
much  either,  Hilda,  for  when  Darwin  came  in  she 
laughed  a  lot  at  the  name  and  said  she  would  n't  be 
paid  to  read  him — the  real  Darwin." 

"  Perhaps  she  likes  other  things  best." 

"  Herself,"  said  Katherine  decisively.  "  Miss  Odd 
of  course  we  have  had  time  to  make  up  our  minds 
about." 

"  I  like  her ;  don't  you  ?  She  has  such  a  clear, 
trustful  face." 

"  She  is  rather  rigid ;  about  as  hard  on  other  peo- 
ple as  she  would  be  on  herself.  She  could  never 
do  anything  wrong." 

"I  don't  quite  like  that;  being  hard  on  other 
people,  I  mean.  One  could  be  quite  sure  about  one's 
own  wrongness,  but  how  can  one  about  other  peo- 
ple's ?  It  is  rather  uncharitable,  is  n't  it,  Katherine  ?  " 

"  She  is  n't  very  charitable,  but  she  is  very  just. 
As  for  Lord  Allan,  he  is  a  sort  of  type,  and,  there- 
fore, not  very  entertaining." 

"A  type  of  what?" 

"  Oh,  just  the  eldest  son  type  ;  very  handsome, 
very  honest,  very  good,  with  a  strong  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility. Jimmy  Hope  is  just  like  him,  which 
is  a  great  pity,  as  one  expects  a  difference  in  the 
younger  son — more  interest." 
44 


PETER  ODD 

Katherine  went  to  sleep  with  a  warmly  comfort- 
able sense  of  competence.  She  doubted  whether 
many  people  saw  things  as  clearly  as  she  did. 

She  was  wakened  by  an  unpleasant  dreaming 
scream  from  Hilda. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Hilda  ?  "  She  spoke  crossly. 
"  How  you  startled  me." 

"  Oh,  such  a  horrid  dream  !  "  Hilda  half  sobbed. 
"  How  glad  I  am  that  it  is  n't  so !  " 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  Katherine  asked,  still  crossly  ; 
severity  she  thought  the  best  attitude  towards 
Hilda's  fright. 

"  About  the  river,  down  in  the  hole  ;  I  was  chok- 
ing, and  my  legs  and  arms  were  all  tangled  in  roots." 

"  Well,  go  to  sleep  now,"  Katherine  advised. 

Hilda  was  obediently  silent,  but  presently  a  small, 
supplicating  voice  was  heard. 

"  Katherine — I  'm  so  sorry — don't  be  angry — 
might  I  come  to  you  ?  I  'm  so  frightened." 

"  Come  along,"  said  Katherine,  still  severely,  but 
she  put  her  arms  very  fondly  around  her  shivering 
sister,  snuggled  her  consolingly  and  kissed  her. 

"  Silly  little  Hilda,"  she  said. 
45 


CHAPTER  VI 

days  before  the  arrival  of  Gladys  le  Bre- 
ton,  Mrs.  Marchant,  Lord  Calverly,  and  Sir 
John  (the  Damians  only  did  not  accept  Alicia's  in- 
vitation), Mary  Odd  astonished  her  brother. 

She  came  into  the  library  early  one  morning  be- 
fore breakfast.  Odd  was  there,  writing. 

"  Peter,"  she  said,  "  last  night,  before  going  to 
bed,  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Apswith  and  accepted  him." 

Mary  always  spoke  to  the  point.  Peter  wheeled 
round  his  chair  in  amazement. 

"  Accepted  Mr.  Apswith,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  always  intended  to  at  some  time,  and  I 
felt  that  the  time  had  come." 

Mr.  Apswith,  a  clever,  wealthy  M.  P.,  had  for 
years  been  in  love  with  Miss  Odd.  Mary  was  now 
one-and-thirty,  two  years  older  than  her  brother, 
and  people  said  that  Mr.  Apswith  had  fallen  in  love 
when  she  first  came  out  twelve  years  ago.  Mr. 
Apswith's  patience,  perseverance,  and  fidelity  were 
certainly  admirable,  but  Peter,  like  most  people,  had 
thought  that  as  Mary  had,  so  far,  found  no  difficulty 
in  maintaining  her  severe  independence,  it  would, 
in  all  probability,  never  yield  to  Mr.  Apswith's 
ardor. 

Mary,  however,  was  a  person  to  keep  her  own 
cqunsel.  During  her  father's  lifetime,  when  much 
46 


PETER  ODD 

responsibility  and  many  duties  had  claimed  her,  she 
had  certainly  doubted  more  than  once  the  possibility 
of  Mr.  Apswith's  ultimate  success;  there  was  a 
touch  of  the  Diana  in  Mary,  and  a  great  deal  of  the 
Minerva.  But,  since  her  father's  death,  since  Peter's 
bridal  home-coming,  Mary  often  found  herself  think- 
ing of  Mr.  Apswith,  her  fundamental  sympathy  with 
him  on  all  things,  her  real  loneliness  and  his  devo' 
tion.  They  had  corresponded  for  years,  and  often 
saw  one  another.  Familiarity  had  not  bred  con- 
tempt, but  rather  strengthened  mutual  trust  and 
dependence.  A  certain  tone  of  late  in  Mary's 
letters  had  called  forth  from  Mr.  Apswith  a  most 
domineering  and  determined  love-letter.  Mary  had 
yielded  to  it — gladly,  as  she  now  realized.  Yet  her 
heart  yearned  over  Peter.  He  got  up  now,  and 
kissed  her. 

"  Mary,  my  dear  girl " — he  could  hardly  find 
words — "  may  you  be  very,  very  happy.  You  de- 
serve it ;  so  does  he." 

Neither  touched,  as  they  talked  of  the  wonderful 
decision,  on  the  fact  that  by  it  Peter  would  be  left 
to  the  solitary  companionship  of  his  wife  ;  it  was  not 
a  fact  to  be  touched  on.  Mary  longed  to  fling  her 
arms  around  his  neck  and  cry  on  his  shoulder.  Her 
happiness  made  his  missing  it  so  apparent,  but  she 
shrank  from  emphasizing  their  mutual  knowledge. 

"We  must  ask  Apswith  down  at  once,"  said  Odd. 
"  It's  a  busy  session,  but  he  can  manage  a  few 
days." 

"  Well,  Peter,  that  is  hardly  necessary.  I  shall  go 
up  to  London  within  the  week.  Lady  Mainwaring 
asked  me  to  go  to  Paris  with  her  on  the  2oth.  She 
47 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

stops  in  London  for  three  days.  I  shall  see  Mr. 
Apswith  there,  get  my  trousseau  in  Paris,  and  be 
married  in  July,  in  about  six  weeks'  time.  Delay 
would  be  rather  silly — he  has  waited  so  long." 

"  You  take  my  breath  away,  Mary.  I  am  selfish, 
I  own.  I  don't  like  to  lose  you." 

"  It  is  n't  losing  me,  Peter  dear.  We  shall  see  a 
lot  of  one  another.  I  shall  be  married  from  here, 
of  course.  Mr.  Apswith  will  stop  with  the  Main- 
warings." 

When  Mary  left  him,  Peter  resumed  his  seat,  and 
even  went  on  writing  for  a  few  moments.  Then  he 
put  down  the  pen  and  stretched  himself,  as  one 
does  when  summoning  courage.  He  did  not  lack 
courage,  yet  he  owned  to  himself  that  Mary's  pros- 
pective departure  sickened  him.  Her  grave,  even 
character  had  given  him  a  sense  of  supporting  sym- 
pathy ;  he  needed  a  sympathetic  atmosphere  ;  and 
Alicia's  influence  was  a  very  air-pump.  Poor  Alicia, 
thought  Odd.  The  sense  of  his  own  despair  struck 
him  as  rather  unmanly.  He  looked  out  of  the  open 
window  at  the  lawn,  its  cool,  green  stretches 
whitened  with  the  dew ;  the  rooks  were  cawing  in 
the  trees,  and  his  thoughts  went  back  suddenly  to 
a  certain  morning  in  London,  not  two  months  ago, 
just  after  the  baby's  death  and  just  before  Alicia's 
departure  for  the  Riviera. 

Alicia  was  lying  on  the  sofa — Peter  staring  at  the 
distant  trees,  did  not  see  them  but  that  scene — her 
magnificent  health  had  made  lying  on  sofas  very 
uncharacteristic,  and  Odd  had  been  struck  with  a 
gentle  sort  of  compunction  at  the  sight  of  the  bronze 
head  on  the  pillow,  the  thin  white  cheek.  His  heart 
48 


PETER  ODD 

was  very  heavy.  The  paternal  instincts  are  not 
said  to  be  strong  ;  Odd  had  not  credited  himself 
with  possessing  them  in  any  elevated  form.  Yet, 
now  that  the  poor  baby  was  dead,  he  realized  how 
keen  had  been  his  interest  in  the  little  face,  how 
keen  the  half-animal  pleasure  in  the  clinging  of  the 
tiny  fingers,  and  as  he  looked  at  the  baby  in  its  small 
white  coffin,  he  had  realized,  too,  with  a  pang  of 
longing  that  the  little  white  face,  like  a  flower  among 
the  flowers  about  it,  was  that  of  his  child — dead. 

On  that  morning  he  bent  over  Alicia  with  some- 
thing of  the  lover's  tenderness  in  his  heart,  though 
Alicia  had  very  nearly  wrung  all  tenderness  out  of  it. 

"  My  dear  girl,  my  poor,  dear  girl,"  he  said,  kiss- 
ing her;  and  he  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  sofa  and 
smoothed  back  her  hair.  Alicia  looked  up  at  him 
with  those  wonderful  eyes — looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  all  right  soon  enough,  Peter." 

Peter  put  his  arm  under  her  head  and  looked  hard 
at  her — her  beauty  entranced  him  as  it  had  done 
from  the  beginning. 

"Alicia,  Alicia,  do  you  love  me?"  His  earnest- 
ness pleased  her  ;  she  felt  in  it  her  own  power. 

"  What  a  thing  to  ask,  Peter.  Did  you  ever 
imagine  I  didn't  ?  " 

"  Shall  it  bring  us  together,  my  wife,  the  death  of 
our  child  ?  Will  you  feel  for  my  sorrow  as  I  feel  for 
yours,  my  poor  darling?" 

"  Feel  for  you,  Peter?  Why,  of  course  I  do.  It 
is  especially  hard  on  you,  too,  losing  your  heir." 

Her  look,  her  words  crushed  all  the  sudden  im- 
pulse of  resolve,  hope,  love  even. 

"  My  heir?  "  Peter  repeated,  in  a  stumbling  tone. 
4  49 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  was  n't  think- 
ing of  that." 

"  Were  n't  you  ?  "  said  Alicia,  rather  wearily.  She 
felt  her  weakness,  it  irked  her,  and  her  next  words 
were  more  fretfully  uttered — 

"  Of  course  I  know  you  feel  for  me.  Such  a  lot 
to  go  through,  too,  and  for  nothing."  She  saw  the 
pain  setting  her  husband's  lips  sternly.  "  I  suppose 
now,  Peter,  that  you  are  imagining  I  care  nothing 
about  baby,"  she  remarked. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  a  brute,"  said  Peter  gloomily. 

"  You  hope  /  'm  not,  too,  no  doubt." 

"  Don't,  don't,  Alicia." 

"  I  felt  awfully  about  it ;  simply  awfully,"  Alicia 
declared. 

Odd,  retracing  the  sorry  little  scene  as  he  looked 
from  his  library  windows,  found  that  from  it  uncon- 
sciously he  had  dated  an  epoch,  an  epoch  of  resig- 
nation that  had  donned  good-humor  as  its  shield. 
Alicia  could  disappoint  him  no  longer. 

In  the  first  month  of  their  married  life,  each  rev- 
elation of  emptiness  had  been  an  agony.  Alicia  was 
still  mysterious  to  him,  as  must  be  a  nature  centered 
in  its  own  shallowness  to  one  at  touch  on  all  points 
with  life  in  all  its  manifestations;  her  mind  still 
remained  as  much  a  thing  for  conjecture  as  the 
mind  of  some  animals.  But  Alicia's  perceptions 
were  subtle,  and  he  only  asked  now  to  keep  from  her 
all  consciousness  of  his  own  marred  life  ;  for  he  had 
marred  it,  not  she.  He  was  carefully  just  to  Alicia. 

Mary  remained  at  the  Manor  until  all  Alicia's 
guests  had  arrived.  Mrs.  Marchant,  an  ugly, "  smart," 
vivacious  widow,  splendid  horsewoman,  and  good 
50 


PETER  ODD 

singer  ;  Gladys  le  Breton,  who  was  very  blonde  and 
fluffy  as  to  head,  just  a  bit  made-up  as  to  skin, 
harmless,  pretty,  silly,  and  supposed  to  be  clever. 

"  Clever,  I  suppose,"  Mary  said  to  Lady  Main- 
waring,  "  because  she  has  the  reputation  of  doing 
foolish  things  badly — dancing  on  dinner-tables  and 
thoroughly  b$te  things  like  that.  She  has  not  danced 
on  Peter's  table  as  yet." 

Miss  le  Breton  skirt-danced  in  the  drawing-room, 
however,  very  prettily,  and  Peter's  placid  contem- 
plation of  her  coyness  irritated  Mary.  Miss  le 
Breton's  coyness  was  too  mechanical,  too  well  worn 
to  afford  even  a  charitable  point  of  view. 

"  Poor  little  girl,"  said  Peter,  when  she  expressed 
her  disapproval  with  some  severity ;  "  it  is  her 
nature.  Each  man  after  his  own  manner ;  hers  is 
to  make  a  fool  of  herself,"  and  with  this  rather  un- 
expected piece  of  opinion  Mary  was  fully  satisfied. 
As  for  Lord  Calverly,  she  cordially  hated  the  big 
man  with  the  good  manners  and  the  coarse  laugh. 
His  cynical  observation  of  Miss  le  Breton  aroused 
quite  a  feeling  of  protecting  partisanship  in  Mary's 
breast,  and  his  looks  at  Alicia  made  her  blood  boil. 
They  were  not  cynical.  Sir  John  Fleetinge  was 
hardly  more  tolerable ;  far  younger,  with  a  bonnie 
look  of  devil-may-care  and  a  reputation  for  reckless- 
ness that  made  Mary  uneasy.  Peter  was  indifferent 
good-humor  itself,  but  she  thought  the  time  might 
come  when  Peter's  good-humor  might  fail. 

The  thought  of  Mr.  Apswith  was  cheering ;  but 
she  hated  to  leave  Peter  dans  cette  galore. 

Peter,  however,  did  not  much  mind  the  galore. 
His  duties  as  host  lay  lightly  on  him.  He  did  not 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

mind  Calverly  at  billiards,  nor  Fleetinge  at  the  river, 
where  they  spent  several  mornings  fishing  silently 
and  pleasantly  together.  Fleetinge  had  only  met 
him  casually  in  London  clubs  and  drawing-rooms, 
but  at  close  quarters  he  realized  that  literary  tastes, 
which  might  have  indicated  a  queer  twist  according 
to  Sir  John  and  an  air  of  easy  confidence  in  Mrs. 
Odd,  would  not  make  a  definite  falling  in  love  with 
Mrs.  Odd  one  whit  the  safer ;  he  rather  renounced 
definiteness  therefore,  and  rather  liked  Peter. 

Mary  departed  for  London  with  Lady  Mainwaring, 
and  Alicia,  as  if  to  show  that  she  needed  no  chaper- 
onage,  conducted  herself  with  a  little  less  gayety  than 
when  Mary  was  there. 

She  rode  in  the  mornings  with  Lord  Calverly  and 
Captain  Archinard — who  had  not,  as  yet,  put  into 
execution  the  hideous  economy  of  selling  his  horses. 
In  the  evening  she  played  billiards  in  a  manly 
manner,  and  at  odd  hours  she  flirted,  but  not  too 
forcibly,  with  Lord  Calverly,  Sir  John,  and  with 
Captain  Archinard  in  the  beech-woods,  or  by  lamp- 
light effects  in  the  drawing-room. 

Peter  had  not  forgotten  Hilda  and  the  strawberry 
beds,  and  one  day  Captain  Archinard,  who  spent 
many  of  his  hours  at  the  Manor,  was  asked  to  bring 
his  girls  to  tea. 

Hilda  and  Katherine  found  Lord  Calverly  and 
Mrs.  Marchant  in  the  drawing-room  with  Mrs.  Odd, 
and  their  father,  after  a  cursory  introduction,  left 
them  to  sit,  side  by  side,  on  two  tall  chairs,  while 
he  joined  the  trio.  Mrs.  Marchant  moved  away  to 
a  sofa,  the  Captain  followed  her,  and  Alicia  and 
Lord  Calverly  were  left  alone  near  the  two  children. 
52 


PETER  ODD 

Katherine  was  already  making  sarcastic  mental 
notes  as  to  the  hospitality  meted  out  to  Hilda  and 
herself,  and  Hilda  stared  hard  at  Mrs.  Odd.  Mrs. 
Odd  was  more  beautiful  than  ever  this  afternoon 
in  a  white  dress ;  Hilda  wondered  with  dismay  if 
Katherine  could  be  right  about  her.  Alicia,  turning 
her  head  presently,  met  the  wide  absorbed  gaze, 
and,  with  her  charming  smile,  asked  if  they  had 
brought  their  dogs — 

"  I  saw  such  a  lot  of  them  about  at  your  place  the 
other  day." 

"  We  did  n't  know  that  you  expected  them  to  tea. 
We  should  have  liked  to  bring  them,"  said  Katherine, 
and  Hilda  murmured  with  an  echo-like  effect :  "  We 
should  have  liked  to  ;  Palamon  howled  dreadfully." 

That  Palamon 's  despair  had  been  unnecessary 
made  regret  doubly  keen. 

"  Hey  !  What  's  that  ?  "  Lord  Calverly  had  been 
staring  at  Hilda  and  heard  the  faint  ejaculation  ; 
"what  is  your  dog  called  ?  " 

"  Palamon."  Hilda's  voice  was  reserved  ;  she  had 
already  thought  that  she  did  not  like  Lord  Calverly, 
and  now  that  he  looked  at  her,  spoke  to  her,  she 
was  sure  of  it. 

"  What  funny  names  you  give  your  dogs,"  said 
Alicia.  "  The  other  is  called  Darwin,"  she  added, 
looking  at  Lord  Calverly  with  a  laugh  ;  "  but  Pala- 
mon is  pretty — prettier  than  the  monkey  gentleman. 
What  made  you  call  him  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  out  of  '  The  Knight's  Tale,'  "  said  Kathe- 
rine ;  "  Hilda  is  very  fond  of  it,  and  called  her  dogs 
after  the  two  heroes,  Palamon  and  Arcite." 

Lord  Calverly  had  been  trying  to  tease  Hilda  by 
53 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

the  open  admiration  of  his  monocled  gaze ;  the 
fixed  gravity  of  her  stare,  like  a  pretty  baby's,  hugely 
amused  him. 

"  So  you  like  Chaucer  ?  "  Hilda  averted  her  eyes, 
feeling  very  uncomfortable.  "  Strong  meat  that  for 
babes,"  Lord  Calverly  added,  looking  at  Alicia,  who 
contemplated  the  children  with  pleasant  vagueness. 

"  Never  read  it,"  she  replied  briskly  ;  "  not  to  re- 
member. If  I  had  had  literary  tastes  in  my  infancy 
I  might  have  read  all  the  improper  books  without 
understanding  them  ;  now  I  am  too  old  to  read  them 
innocently." 

Katherine  listened  to  this  dialogue  with  scorn  for 
the  speakers  (she  did  not  care  for  Chaucer,  but  she 
knew  very  well  that  to  dispose  of  him  as  "  improper  " 
showed  depths  of  Philistinism),  and  Hilda  listened 
in  alarm  and  wonder.  Alicia's  expressive  eyebrows 
and  gayly  languid  eyes  made  her  even  more  uncom- 
fortable than  Lord  Calverly's  appreciative  monocle 
— the  monocle  turning  on  her  more  than  once  while 
its  wearer  lounged  with  abrupt,  lazy  laughs  near 
Alicia.  Hilda  wondered  if  Mrs.  Odd  liked  a  man 
who  could  so  laugh  and  lounge,  and  a  vague  disquiet 
and  trouble,  a  child's  quick  but  ignorant  sense  of 
sadness  stirred  within  her,  for  if  Katherine  had  been 
right,  then  Mr.  Odd  must  be  unhappy.  She  sprang 
up  with  a  long  breath  of  relief  and  eagerness  when 
he  came  in.  Odd,  with  a  half-humorous,  half-cynical 
glance,  took  in  the  situation  of  his  two  little  guests  ; 
Alicia  was  evidently  taking  no  trouble  to  claim  them 
hers.  He  appreciated,  too,  Hilda's  glad  face. 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  have  kept  you  waiting ;  are  you 
ready  for  strawberries  ?  " 
54 


PETER  ODD 

He  shook  hands,  smiling  at  them. 

"  Don't,  please,  put  yourself  out,  Odd,  in  looking 
after  my  offspring,"  called  the  Captain ;  "  they  can 
find  their  way  to  the  garden  without  an  escort." 

"  But  it  won't  put  me  out  to  take  them  ;  it  would 
put  me  out  very  much  if  I  could  n't,"  and  Odd 
smiled  his  kindliest  at  Hilda,  who  stood  dubious 
and  hesitating. 

Katherine  thought  it  rather  babyish  to  go  into 
the  garden  for  strawberries.  She  preferred  to  await 
tea  in  this  atmosphere  of  unconscious  inferiority ; 
these  grown-up  people  who  did  not  talk  to  her,  and 
who  were  yet  so  much  duller  than  she  and  Hilda. 
When  Hilda  went  out  with  Mr.  Odd  she  picked  up 
some  magazines,  and  divided  her  attention  between 
the  pictures  and  the  couples.  Papa  and  Mrs.  Mar- 
chant  did  not  interest  her,  but  she  found  Alicia's 
low,  musical  laughter,  and  the  enjoyment  with  which 
she  listened  to  Lord  Calverly's  half-muffled  utter- 
ances, full  of  psychological  suggestions  that  would 
read  very  well  in  her  journal. 

"  He  is  probably  flattering  her,"  thought  Kathe- 
rine ;  "  that  is  what  she  likes  best." 

Meanwhile  Hilda  had  forgotten  Lord  Calverly's 
stare  and  Alicia's  frivolity  ;  she  was  so  glad,  so  glad 
to  be  with  her  big  friend  again.  He  took  her  first 
to  the  picture  gallery — having  noticed  as  they  went 
through  a  room  that  her  eyes  swerved  to  a  Turner 
water-color  with  evident  delight.  Hilda  was  silent 
before  the  great  Velasquez,  the  Holbein  drawings, 
the  Chardin  and  the  Corot ;  but  as  they  went  from 
picture  to  picture,  she  would  look  up  at  Odd  with 
her  confident,  gentle  smile,  so  that,  after  the  half- 
55 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

hour  in  the  fine  gallery,  he  felt  sure  that  the  child 
cared  for  the  pictures  as  much  as  he  did  ;  her  silence 
was  singularly  sympathetic.  As  they  went  into  the 
garden  she  confessed,  in  answer  to  his  questions, 
that  she  would  love  to  paint,  to  draw. 

"  All  the  beautiful,  beautiful  things  to  do  !  "  she 
said  ;  "  almost  everything  would  be  beautiful, 
wouldn't  it,  if  one  were  great  enough?" 

The  strawberry  beds  were  visited,  and — 

"  Shall  we  go  down  to  the  river  and  have  a  look 
at  the  scene  of  our  first  acquaintance  ?  "  asked  Peter  ; 
"  we  have  plenty  of  time  before  tea."  But,  seeing 
the  half-ashamed  reluctance  in  Hilda's  eyes,  "  Well, 
not  there,  then,  but  to  the  river ;  there  are  even  pret- 
tier places.  Our  boating-house  is  a  mile  from  yours, 
and  I  '11  give  you  a  paddle  in  my  Canadian  canoe, — 
such  a  pretty  thing.  You  must  sit  very  still,  you 
know,  or  you  '11  spill  us  both  into  the  river." 

"  I  should  n't  mind,  as  you  would  be  there," 
laughed  Hilda ;  and  so  they  went  through  the  sun- 
lit golden  green  of  the  beechwoods,  and  Hilda  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  Canadian  canoe  and  of  a 
mile  or  so  of  river  that  she  had  never  seen  before, 
and  she  and  Peter  talked  together  like  the  best  and 
oldest  of  friends. 

56 


CHAPTER  VII 

ODD'S  life  of  melancholy  and  good-humored 
resignation  was  cut  short  with  an  abruptness 
so  startling  that  the  needlessness  of  further  resigna- 
tion deepened  the  melancholy  to  a  lasting  habit  of 
mind. 

The  melancholy  that  lies  in  the  resignation  to  a 
ruinous  mistake,  the  acceptance  of  ruin,  and  the 
nerving  oneself  to  years  of  self-control  and  kindly 
endurance  may  well  become  a  fine  and  bracing 
stoicism,  but  the  shock  of  the  irretrievably  lost  op- 
portunity, the  eternally  irremediable  mistake,  gave 
a  sensitive  mind  a  morbid  faculty  of  self-questioning 
and  self-doubt  that  sapped  the  very  springs  of  energy 
and  confidence. 

Mary's  wedding  came  off  in  July,  and  when  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Apswith  were  gone  for  two  months'  cruis- 
ing in  a  friend's  yacht  about  the  North  Sea,  Peter 
set  to  work  with  vigor.  "  The  Sonnet  "  was  in  a 
year's  time  to  make  him  famous  in  the  world  of  let- 
ters. In  September,  Mary  and  her  husband  went 
to  their  house  in  Surrey,  and  there  Peter  paid  her  a 
visit.  Alicia  found  a  trip  to  Carlsbad  with  friends 
more  desirable.  The  friends  were  thoroughly  irre- 
proachable— a  middle-aged  peer  and  his  young  and 
pretty  but  very  sensible  wife. 

Peter,  in  allowing  her  to  enjoy  herself  after  her 
57 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

own  fashion,  felt  no  weight  of  warning  responsi- 
bility. But  Alicia  died  suddenly  at  Carlsbad,  and 
the  horror  of  self-reproach,  of  bitter  regret,  that  fell 
upon  Odd  when  the  news  reached  him  at  his  sister's, 
was  as  unjust  as  it  was  poignant.  At  Allersley  the 
general  verdict  was  that  Mrs.  Odd's  death  had 
broken  her  husband's  heart,  and  Allersley,  though 
arguing  from  false  premises,  was  not  far  wrong. 
Odd  was  nearly  heart-broken.  That  Alicia's  death 
should  have  lifted  the  weight  of  a  fatal  mistake  from 
his  life  was  a  fact  that  tortured  and  filled  him  with 
remorse.  Doubts  and  conjectures  haunted  him. 
Alicia  might  have  dumbly  longed  for  a  sympathy 
for  which  she  was  unable  to  plead,  and  he  to  guess 
her  longing.  She  had  died  away  from  him,  without 
one  word  of  mutual  understanding,  without  one  look 
of  the  love  he  once  had  felt  and  she  accepted  ;  and 
bitterest  of  all  came  the  horrid  realism  of  the  thought 
that  his  absence  had  not  made  death  more  bitter  to 
her.  He  shut  himself  up  in  the  Manor  for  three 
weeks,  seeing  no  one,  and  then,  in  sudden  rebellion 
against  this  passive  suffering,  determined  to  go  to 
India.  He  had  a  second  sister  married  there.  The 
voyage  would  distract  him,  and  change,  movement, 
he  must  have.  The  news  spread  quickly  over 
Allersley,  and  Allersley  approved  of  the  wisdom  of 
the  decision. 

At  the  Priory  little  Hilda  Archinard  was  suffering 
in  her  way — the  dreary  suffering  of  childhood,  with 
its  sense  of  hopeless  finality,  of  helpless  inexperi- 
ence. Chasms  of  desolation  deepened  within  her 
as  she  heard  that  her  friend  was  going  away. 

The  sudden  blossoming  of  her  devotion  to  Odd 
58 


PETER  ODD 

had  widened  her  capabilities  for  conscious  lone- 
liness. Her  loneliness  became  apparent  to  her, 
and  the  immense  place  his  smile,  his  kindness,  her 
confident  sense  of  his  goodness  had  filled  in  her 
dreaming  little  life.  Her  aching  pity  for  him  was 
confused  by  a  vague  terror  for  herself.  She  could 
hardly  bear  the  thought  of  his  departure.  Every 
day  she  walked  all  along  the  hedges  and  walls  that 
divided  the  Priory  from  the  Manor  estate ;  but  she 
never  saw  him.  The  thought  of  not  seeing  him 
again,  which  at  first  had  seemed  impossible,  now 
fixed  upon  her  as  a  haunting  obsession. 

"Odd  goes  to-morrow,"  the  Captain  announced 
one  evening  in  the  drawing-room.  Katherine  was 
playing,  not  very  conscientiously  but  rather  cleverly, 
a  little  air  by  Grieg.  Hilda  had  a  book  on  her  lap, 
but  she  was  not  reading,  and  her  father's  words 
seemed  to  stop  her  heart  in  its  heavy  beating. 

"  I  met  Thompson  " — Mr.  Thompson  was  Peter's 
land-agent — "  and  everything  is  settled.  Poor  chap  ! 
Thompson  says  he  's  badly  broken  up." 

"  How  futile  to  mourn  over  death,"  Mrs.  Archinard 
sighed  from  her  sofa.  "  Tangled  as  we  are  in  the 
webs  of  temperament,  and  environment,  and  circum- 
stance, should  we  not  rather  rejoice  at  the  release 
from  the  great  illusion  ?  "  Mrs.  Archinard  laid  down 
a  dreary  French  novel  and  vaguely  yawned,  while 
the  Captain  muttered  something  about  talking  "  rot  " 
before  the  children. 

"  Move  this  lamp  away,  Hilda,"  said  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard. "  I  think  I  can  take  a  nap  now,  if  Katherine 
will  put  on  the  soft  pedal." 

It  was  a  warm  autumn  night,  and  the  windows 
59 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

were  open.  Hilda  slipped  out  when  she  had  moved 
the  lamp  away. 

She  could  not  go  by  the  country  road,  nor  scramble 
through  the  hedge,  but  to  climb  over  the  wall  would 
be  an  easy  matter.  Hilda  ran  over  the  lawn,  across 
the  meadows,  and  through  the  woods.  In  the  un- 
canny darkness  her  white  dress  glimmered  like  the 
flitting  wings  of  a  moth.  As  she  came  to  the  wall 
the  moon  seemed  to  slide  from  behind  a  cloud. 
Hilda's  heart  stood  still  with  a  sudden  terror  at 
her  loneliness  there  in  the  wood  at  night.  The 
boy-like  vault  over  the  wall  gave  her  an  impetus  of 
courage,  and  she  began  to  run,  feeling,  as  she  ran, 
that  the  courage  was  only  mechanical,  that  the  moon, 
the  mystery  of  a  dimly  seen  infinity  of  tree  trunks, 
the  sorrow  holding  her  heart  as  if  in  a  physical  pres- 
sure, were  all  terrible  and  terrifying.  But  Hilda, 
on  occasions,  could  show  an  indomitable  moral 
courage  even  while  her  body  quaked,  and  she  ran 
all  the  half-mile  from  the  boundary  wall  to  Allersley 
Manor  without  stopping.  There  was  a  light  in  the 
library  window ;  even  at  a  distance  she  had  seen  it 
glowing  between  the  trees.  She  ran  more  slowly 
over  the  lawn,  and  paused  on  the  gravel  path  out- 
side the  library  to  get  her  breath.  Yes,  he  was 
there  alone.  She  looked  into  the  dignified  quiet  of 
the  fine  old  room.  A  tall  lamp  threw  a  strong  light 
on  the  pages  of  the  book  he  held,  and  his  head 
was  in  shadow.  The  window  was  ajar,  and  Hilda 
pushed  it  open  and  went  in. 

At  the  sound  Odd  glanced  up,  and  his  face  took 
on  a  look  of  half  incredulous  stupefaction.  Hilda's 
white  face,  tossed  hair,  the  lamentable  condition  of 
60 


PETER  ODD 

her  muslin  frock,  made  of  her  indeed  a  startling 
apparition. 

"  My  dear  Hilda!  "  he  exclaimed. 

Hilda  pressed  her  palms  together,  and  stared 
silently  at  him.  Mr.  Odd's  face  looked  so  much 
older ;  its  gravity  made  her  heart  stand  still  with 
an  altogether  new  sense  of  calamity.  She  stood 
helplessly  before  him,  tears  brimming  to  her  eyes. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  is  the  matter?  You 
positively  frightened  me." 

"  I  came  to  say  '  Good-bye,'  "  said  Hilda  brokenly. 

Peter's  gravity  was  mere  astonishment  and  sym- 
pathetic dismay.  The  tear-brimmed  eyes,  after  his 
weeks  of  solitary  brooding,  filled  him  with  a  most 
exquisite  rush  of  pity  and  tenderness. 

"Come  here,  you  dear  child,"  he  said,  holding 
out  his  arms  to  her ;  "  you  came  to  say  '  Good-bye  ? ' 
I  am  very  grateful  to  you." 

Hilda  leaned  her  head  against  his  shoulder  and 
wept.  After  the  frozen  nightmare  moment,  the  old 
kindness  was  a  delicious  contrast ;  she  almost  forgot 
the  purport  of  her  journey,  though  she  knew  that 
she  was  crying.  Odd  stroked  her  long  hair ;  her 
tears  slightly  amused  and  slightly  alarmed  him, 
even  while  the  pathos  of  the  affection  they  revealed 
touched  him  deeply. 

"  Did  you  come  alone  ?  "  he  asked. 

Hilda  nodded. 

"  That  was  a  very  plucky  thing  to  do.  I  thank 
you  for  it.  There,  can't  you  smile  at  me  ?  Don't 
cry." 

"  Oh,  I  love  you  so  m-uch,  I  can  hardly  bear  it." 
Peter  felt  uncomfortable.  The  capacity  for  suffer- 
61 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

ing  revealed  in  these  words  gave  him  a  sense  of 
responsibility.  Poor  child  !  Would  her  lot  in  life 
be  to  cry  over  people  who  were  not  worth  it  ?  " 

"  I  shall  come  back  some  day,  Hilda."  Hilda 
stopped  crying,  and  Peter  was  relieved  by  the  sobs' 
cessation.  "  I  have  a  wandering  fit  on  me  just  now  ; 
you  understand  that,  don't  you  ?  " 

She  held  his  hand  tightly.  She  could  not  speak  ; 
her  heart  swelled  so  at  his  tone  of  mutual  under- 
standing. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  my  sister.  I  have  n't  seen  her 
for  five  years  ;  but  long  before  another  five  years 
are  passed  I  shall  be  here  again,  and  the  thing  I 
shall  most  want  to  see  when  I  get  back  will  be  your 
little  face." 

"  But  you  will  be  different  then,  I  will  be  differ- 
ent, we  will  both  be  changed."  Hilda  put  her  hands 
before  her  face  and  sobbed  again.  Peter  was  silent 
for  a  moment,  rather  aghast  at  the  child's  apprehen- 
sion of  the  world's  deepest  tragedy.  He  could  not 
tell  her  that  they  would  be  unchanged — he  the  man 
of  thirty-five,  she  the  girl  of  seventeen.  Poor  little 
Hilda  !  Her  grief  was  but  too  well  founded,  and 
his  thoughts  wandered  for  a  moment  with  Hilda's 
words  far  away  from  Hilda  herself.  Hilda  wiped 
her  eyes  and  sat  upright.  Odd  looked  at  her.  He 
had  a  keen  sense  of  the  unconventional  in  beauty, 
and  her  tears  had  not  disfigured  her  small  face — had 
only  made  it  strange.  He  patted  her  cheek  and 
smiled  at  her. 

"  Cheer  up,  little  one  !  "  She  evidently  tried  to 
smile  back. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  idealized  me,  my  child — 
62 


PETER  ODD 

it 's  a  dangerous  faculty.  I  am  a  very  ordinary  sort 
of  person,  Hilda ;  you  must  not  imagine  fine  things 
about  me  nor  care  so  much.  I  'm  not  worth  one  of 
those  tears,  poor  little  girl !  " 

It  was  difficult  to  feel  amused  before  her  solemn 
gaze ;  a  sage  prophecy  of  inevitable  recovery  would 
be  brutal ;  to  show  too  much  sympathy  equally 
cruel.  But  the  reality  of  her  feeling  dignified  her 
grief,  and  he  found  himself  looking  gravely  into  her 
large  eyes. 

"  You  're  not  worth  it  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  No,  really." 

"  I  don't  imagine  things  about  you." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Peter,  feeling 
rather  at  a  loss. 

"  I  love  you  dearly/'said  Hilda,  with  a  certain  air 
of  dreary  dignity  ;  "  you  are  you.  I  don't  have  to 
imagine  anything." 

Odd  put  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it  gently. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  child.  I  love  you  too,  and 
certainly  I  don't  have  to  imagine  anything." 

Hilda's  eyes,  with  their  effect  of  wide,  almost 
unseeing  expansion,  rested  on  his  for  a  moment 
longer.  She  drew  herself  up,  and  a  look  of  reso- 
lution, self-control,  and  fidelity  hardened  her  young 
face.  Odd  still  felt  somewhat  disconcerted,  some- 
what at  a  loss. 

"  I  must  go  now ;  they  don't  know  that  I  am 
here." 

"  They  did  n't  know  that  you  were  coming,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  No  ;  they  would  n't  have  let  me  come  if  I  had 
told  them  before,  but  I  will  tell  them  now." 
63 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Well,  we  will  tell  them  together." 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  me  home  ?  " 

"  Did  you  imagine  that  I  would  let  you  go  alone  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  kind." 

"  And  what  are  you,  then  ?  Your  shoes  are 
wringing  wet,  my  child.  Your  dress  is  thin,  too, 
for  this  time  of  year.  Wrap  this  coat  of  mine 
around  you.  There  !  and  put  on  this  hat." 

Peter  laughed  as  he  coiffed  her  in  the  soft  felt  hat 
that  came  down  over  her  ears ;  she  looked  charming 
and  quaint  in  the  grotesque  costume.  Hilda  re- 
sponded with  a  quiet,  patient  little  smile,  gathering 
together  the  wide  sleeves  of  the  covert  coat.  Odd 
lit  a  cigar,  put  on  his  own  hat,  took  her  hand,  and 
they  sallied  forth. 

"  You  came  across,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes,  by  the  woods." 

"  And  you  were  n't  frightened  ?  " 

He  felt  the  patient  little  smile  in  the  darkness  as 
she  replied — 

"  You  know  already  that  I  am  a  coward." 

"  I  know,  on  the  contrary,  that  you  are  amazingly 
courageous.  The  flesh  may  be  weak,  but  the  spirit 
is  willing  with  a  vengeance.  Eh,  Hilda  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hilda  vaguely. 

They  walked  in  silence  through  the  woods. 
Clouds  hid  the  moon,  and  the  wind  had  risen. 

Peter  had  dreary  thoughts.  He  felt  like  a  ghost 
in  the  ghost-like  unreality  of  existence.  The  walk 
through  the  melancholy  dimness  seemed  symbol- 
ical of  a  wandering,  aimless  life.  The  touch  of 
Hilda  Archinard's  little  hand  in  his  was  comforting. 
When  they  had  passed  through  the  Priory  shrub- 
64 


PETER  ODD 

bery  and  were  nearing  the  house,  Hilda's  step  beside 
him  paused. 

"  Will  you  kiss  me  '  Good-bye  '  here,  not  before 
them  all  ?  " 

"  What  beastly  things  '  Good-byes '  are,"  Odd 
said,  looking  down  at  the  glimmering  oval  of  her 
uplifted  face;  "what  thoroughly  beastly  things." 
He  took  the  little  face  between  his  hands  and 
kissed  her :  "  Good-bye,  dear  little  Hilda." 

"  Thank  you  so  much — for  everything,"  she  said. 

"  Thank  you,  my  child.     I  shall  not  forget  you." 

"  Don't  be  different.      Try  not  to  change." 

"Ah,  Hilda!  Hilda!" 

That  she,  not  he,  would  change  was  the  inevi- 
table thing.  He  stooped  and  kissed  again  the  child 
beside  him. 

5  65 


Part  I 
KATHERINE 


CHAPTER  I 

ODD  knew  that  he  was  late  as  he  drove  down 
the  Champs  Elyse1  es  in  a  rattling,  closed  fiacre. 
He  and  Besseint  had  talked  so  late  into  the  evening 
that  he  had  barely  had  time  to  get  to  his  hotel  in 
the  Marboeuf  quarter  and  dress. 

Besseint  was  one  of  the  cleverest  French  writers 
of  the  day  ;  he  and  Peter  had  battled  royally  and 
delightfully  over  the  art  of  writing,  and  as  Besseint 
was  certainly  more  interesting  than  would  be  the 
dinner  at  the  Embassy,  Peter  felt  himself  excusable. 

Lady welcomed  him  unresentfully — 

"  Just,  only  just  in  time.  I  am  going  to  send  you 
down  with  Miss  Archinard — over  there  talking  to 
my  husband — she  is  such  a  clever  girl." 

Peter  was  conscious  of  a  shock  of  surprise  ;  a 
shock  so  strong  that  Lady saw  a  really  strik- 
ing change  come  over  his  face.  Peter  himself  was 
startled  by  his  own  pleasure  and  eagerness. 

"  Evidently  you  know  her ;  and  evidently  you 
were  going  to  be  bored  and  are  not  going  to  be 
now  !  Your  change  of  expression  is  really  unflat- 
tering !  "  Lady laughed  good  humoredly. 

"  I  have  n't  seen  her  for  ten  years ;  we  were  the 
greatest  chums.  Oh!  it  isn't  Hilda,  then  !"  Odd 
caught  sight  of  the  young  lady. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  it  is  n't  '  Hilda.'  Hilda  is  the 
69 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

beauty ;  she  is,  unfortunately,  almost  an  unknown 
quantity  ;  but  Katherine  will  be  a  stepping-stone, 
and  I  assure  you  that  she  is  worth  cultivation  on 
her  own  account." 

Yes,  Katherine  was  a  stepping-stone ;  that  atoned 
somewhat  for  the  disappointment  that  Odd  felt  as 
he  followed  his  hostess  across  the  room. 

"  Miss  Archinard — an  old  friend.  Mr.  Odd  tells 
me  he  has  not  seen  you  for  ten  years." 

"  Mr.  Odd  !  "  cried  Miss  Archinard.  She  was  evi- 
dently very  glad  to  see  him. 

"  It  is  astonishing,  is  n't  it  ?  "  said  Peter.  "  Ten 
years  does  mean  something,  doesn't  it?" 

"  So  much  and  yet  so  little.  It  has  n't  changed 
you  a  bit,"  said  Katherine.  "And  here  is  papa. 
Papa,  isn't  this  nice?  Mr.  Odd,  do  you  remember 
the  day  you  fished  Hilda  out  of  the  river?  Poor 
Hilda  !  And  her  romantic  farewell  escapade  ?  " 

Captain  Archinard  was  changed  ;  his  hair  had 
become  very  white,  and  his  good  looks  well  worn, 
but  his  greeting  had  the  cordiality  of  old  friendship. 

"  And  Hilda  ?  "  Peter  questioned,  as  he  and  Kath- 
erine went  into  the  dining-room  together.  "  Hilda 
is  well?  And  as  lovely  as  ever?  " 

"  Well,  and  as  lovely  as  ever,"  Katherine  assured 
him.  "  She  is  not  here  because  she  rarely  goes  out. 
Papa  and  I  are  the  frivolous  members  of  the  family. 
Mamma  goes  in  for  culture,  and  Hilda  for  art." 
Peter  had  a  good  look  at  her  as  they  sat  side  by  side. 

Katherine  was  no  more  beautiful  than  in  child- 
hood, but  she  was  distinctly  interesting  and — yes — 
distinctly  charming.  Her  black  eyes,  deeply  set 
under  broad  eyebrows,  held  the  same  dominant 
70 


KATHERINE 

significance  ;  humorous,  cynical,  clever  eyes.  Her 
white  teeth  gave  a  brilliant  gayety  to  her  smile. 
There  was  distinction  in  her  coiffure — the  thick 
deeply  rippled  hair  parted  on  one  side,  and  coiled 
smoothly  from  crown  to  neck;  and  Peter  recognized 
in  her  dress  a  personal  taste  as  distinctive — the  long 
unbroken  lines  of  her  nasturtium  velvet  gown  were 
untinged  by  any  hint  of  so-called  artistic  dowdiness, 
and  yet  the  dress  wrinkled  about  her  waist  as  she 
moved  with  a  daring  elegance  far  removed  from 
the  moulded  conventionality  of  the  other  women's 
bodices.  This  glowing  gown  was  cut  off  the  shoul- 
ders ;  Katherine's  shoulders  were  beautiful,  and 
they  were  triumphantly  displayed. 

"  And  now,  please  tell  me,"  said  Peter,  "  how  it 
comes  that  I  have  n't  seen  you  for  ten  years  ?  " 

"  How  comes  it  that  we  have  not  seen  you  ?  You 
have  been  everywhere,  and  so  have  we  ;  really  it  is 
odd  that  we  should  never  have  met.  Of  course 
you  know  that  we  left  the  Priory  only  a  year  after 
you  went  to  India?" 

Peter  nodded. 

"  I  was  dismayed  to  find  you  gone  when  I  got 
back.  I  heard  vague  rumors  of  Florence,  and  when 
I  went  there  one  winter  you  had  disappeared." 

"  We  must  have  been  in  Dresden.  How  I  hated 
it !  All  the  shabby  second-rate  culture  of  the  world 
seems  to  gravitate  to  Dresden.  We  had  to  let  the 
Priory,  you  know.  We  are  so  horribly  poor." 

Katherine's  smiling  assertion  was  not  carried  out 
in  her  appearance,  yet  the  statement  put  a  bond  of 
familiarity  between  them ;  Katherine  spoke  as  to 
an  old  friend  who  had  a  right  to  know. 
71 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Then  we  had  a  year  or  two  at  Dinard — loath- 
some place  I  think  it !  Then  Florence  again,  and 
at  last  Paris,  and  here  we  have  been  for  over  three 
years,  and  here  we  shall  probably  stick  for  who 
knows  how  long !  Hilda's  painting  gives  us  a  rea- 
sonable background  ;  at  least  as  reasonable  as  such 
exiles  can  hope  for." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  your  exile  is 
indefinite  ?  " 

Katherine  nodded,  with  eyebrows  lifted  and  a  sug- 
gestion of  shrug  in  the  creamy  expanse  of  shoulder. 

"  And  Hilda  paints  ?     Well  ?  " 

"  Hilda  paints  really  well.  She  has  always  painted, 
and  her  work  is  really  individual,  unaffectedly  indi- 
vidual, and  that's  the  rare  thing,  you  know.  Over 
four  years  of  atelier  work  didn't  scotch  Hilda's 
originality,  and  she  has  a  studio  of  her  own  now, 
and  is  never  happy  out  of  it." 

"  What  kind  of  work  does  she  go  in  for  ?  "  Peter 
was  conscious  of  a  vague  uneasiness  about  Hilda. 
"  Portraits  ?  " 

"  No  ;  Hilda  is  not  very  good  at  likenesses.  Her 
things  are  very  decorative — not  Japanese  either — 
except  in  their  air  of  choice  and  selection  ;  well, 
you  must  see  them,  they  really  are  original,  and, 
in  their  own  little  way,  quite  delightful ;  they  are, 
perhaps,  a  wee  bit  like  baby  Whistlers — not  that 
I  intimate  any  real  resemblance — but  the  sense  of 
color,  the  harmony  ;  but  you  must  see  them,"  Kath- 
erine repeated. 

"  And  Mrs.  Archinard  ?  "  Peter  felt  some  remorse 
at  having  forgotten  that  rather  effaced  personality. 

"  Mamma  is  just  the  same,  only  stronger  than 
72 


KATHERINE 

she  used  to  be  in  England.  I  think  the  Continent 
suits  her  better.  And  now  you,  Mr.  Odd.  The  idea 
of  talking  about  such  nobodies  as  we  are  when  you 
have  become  such  a  personage  !  You  have  become 
rather  cynical  too,  have  n't  you  ?  As  a  child  you 
did  not  make  a  cynical  impression  on  me,  and  your 
'  Dialogues  '  did.  I  think  you  are  even  more  cynical 
than  Renan.  Some  stupid  person  spoke  to  me  of  a 
rapport  between  your  '  Dialogues '  and  his*  Dialogues 
Philosophiques.'  I  don't  imply  that,  except  that 
you  are  both  sceptical  and  both  smiling,  only  your 
smile  is  more  bitter,  your  scepticism  less  frivolous." 

"  I  'm  sceptical  as  to  people,  not  as  to  principles," 
said  Peter,  smiling  not  bitterly. 

"  Yet  you  are  not  a  misanthrope,  you  do  not  hate 
people." 

"  I  don't  admire  them." 

"  You  would  like  to  help  them  to  become  more 
admirable.  Ah  !  The  Anglo-Saxon  is  strong  within 
you.  You  are  not  at  all  like  Renan.  And  then 
you  went  in  for  Parliamentary  honors  too ;  three 
years  ago,  was  n't  it  ?  Why  did  n't  you  keep  on?  " 

"  Because  I  did  n't  keep  my  seat  when  my  party 
went  out.  The  honors  were  dubious,  Miss  Archi- 
nard.  I  cut  a  very  ineffective  figure." 

"  I  remember  meeting  a  man  here  at  the  time  who 
said  you  were  n't  '  practical,'  and  I  liked  you  for  it 
too.  If  only  you  had  kept  in  we  should  surely  have 
met.  Hilda  and  I  were  in  London  this  spring." 

"  Were  you  ?  And  I  was  in  Japan.  I  only  got 
back  three  weeks  ago." 

"  How  you  do  dash  about  the  globe.     But  you 
have  been  to  Allersley  since  getting  back  ?  " 
73 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Only  for  a  day  or  two.  But  tell  me  about  your 
spring  in  London." 

"  We  were  with  Lady  Mainwaring." 

"  Ah,  I  did  not  see  her  when  I  was  at  Allersley. 
That  accounts  for  my  having  had  no  news  of  you. 
You  did  not  see  my  sister  in  London ;  she  has  been 
in  the  country  all  this  year.  You  went  to  Court,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Lady  Mainwaring  presented  us." 

"And  Hilda  enjoyed  herself?" 

Katherine  smiled  :  "  How  glad  you  will  be  to  see 
Hilda.  Yes,  enjoyed  herself  after  a  fashion,  I  think. 
She  only  stopped  a  month.  She  does  n't  care  much 
for  that  sort  of  thing  really." 

Katherine  did  not  say,  hardly  knew  perhaps,  that 
the  reproachful  complaint  of  Mrs.  Archinard's  weekly 
letter  had  cut  short  Hilda's  season,  and  brought  her 
back  to  the  little  room  in  the  little  appartement, 
$ieme  au  dessus  de  V entresol,  where  Mrs.  Archinard 
spent  her  days  as  she  had  spent  them  at  Allersley, 
at  Dresden,  at  Dinard,  at  Florence.  Change  of  sur- 
roundings made  no  change  in  Mrs.  Archinard's  lace- 
frilled  recumbency,  nor  in  the  air  of  passive  long- 
suffering  that  went  with  so  much  appreciation  of 
her  own  merits  and  other  people's  deficiencies. 

"  But  Hilda's  month  meant  more  than  other  girls' 
years,"  Katherine  went  on  ;  "  you  may  imagine  the 
havoc  she  played,  all  unconsciously,  poor  Hilda  ! 
Hilda  is  the  most  unconscious  person.  She  fixes 
one  with  those  big  vague  eyes  of  hers.  She  fixed, 
among  other  people,  another  old  friend,"  and 
Katherine  smiled,  adding  with  lowered  tone,  "  Allan 
Hope." 

74 


KATHERINE 

Peter  was  not  enough  conscious  of  a  certain  inner 
irritation  to  attempt  its  concealment. 

"Allan  Hope?"  he  repeated.  "It  is  impossible 
for  me  to  imagine  little  Hilda  with  lovers ;  and 
Allan  Hope  one  of  them  !  " 

"  Allan  Hope  is  very  nice,"  Katherine  said  lightly. 

"  Nice  ?  Oh,  thoroughly  nice.  But  to  think  that 
Hilda  is  grown  up,  not  a  child." 

Odd  looked  with  a  certain  tired  playfulness  at 
Katherine. 

"  And  you  are  grown  up  too  ;  have  lovers  too. 
What  a  pity  it  is." 

"  That  depends."  Katherine  laughed.  "  But  re- 
grets of  that  kind  are  unnecessary  as  far  as  Hilda  is 
concerned.  I  don't  think  little  Hilda  is  much  less 
the  child  than  when  you  last  saw  her.  Having 
lovers  does  n't  imply  that  one  is  ready  for  them, 
and  I  don't  think  that  Hilda  is  ready." 

Odd  had  looked  away  from  her  again,  and  Kathe- 
rine's  black  eyes  rested  on  him  with  a  sort  of  musing 
curiosity.  She  had  not  spoken  quite  truthfully  in 
saying  that  the  ten  years  had  left  him  unchanged. 
A  good  deal  of  white  in  the  brown  hair,  a  good 
many  lines  about  eyes  and  mouth  might  not  consti- 
tute change,  but  Katherine  had  seen,  in  her  first 
keen  clear  glance  at  the  old  friend,  that  these  badges 
of  time  were  not  all. 

There  had  been  something  still  boyish  about  the 
Mr.  Odd  of  ten  years  ago  ;  the  lines  at  the  eye 
corners  were  still  smiling  lines,  the  quiet  mouth  still 
kind  ;  but  the  whole  face  wore  the  weary,  almost 
heavy  look  of  middle  age. 

"  His  Parliamentary  experience  probably  knocked 
75 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

the  remaining  illusions  out  of  him,"  Katherine  re- 
flected. "  He  was  certainly  very  unsuccessful,  he 
tried  for  such  a  lot  too,  sought  obstacles.  He  should 
mellow  a  bit  now  (that  smile  of  his  is  bitter)  into 
resignation,  give  up  the  windmill  hunt  (I  think  all 
nice  men  go  through  the  Quixotic  phase),  stop  at 
home  and  write  homilies.  And  he  certainly,  cer- 
tainly ought  to  marry  ;  marry  a  woman  who  would 
be  nice  to  him."  And  it  was  characteristic  of 
Katherine  that  already  she  was  turning  over  in  her 
mind  the  question  as  to  whether  it  would  be  feasible, 
or  rather  desirable — for  Katherine  intended  to  please 
herself,  and  had  not  many  doubts  as  to  possibilities 
if  once  she  could  makeup  her  mind — to  contemplate 
that  role  for  herself.  Miss  Archinard  was  certainly 
the  last  woman  in  the  world  to  be  suspected  of 
matrimonial  projects ;  her  frank,  almost  manly  bon- 
homie, and  her  apparent  indifference  to  ineligibility 
had  combined  to  make  her  doubly  attractive  ;  and 
indeed  Katherine  was  no  husband-hunter.  She 
would  choose,  not  seek.  She  certainly  intended  to 
get  married,  and  to  a  husband  who  would  make  life 
definitely  pleasant,  definitely  successful  ;  and  she 
was  very  keenly  conscious  of  the  eligibility  or  un- 
fitness  of  every  man  she  met  ;  only  as  the  majority 
had  struck  her  as  unfit,  Miss  Archinard  was  still 
unmarried.  Now  she  said  to  herself  that  Peter  Odd 
would  certainly  be  nice  to  his  wife,  that  his  position 
was  excellent  —  not  glittering  —  Katherine  would 
have  liked  glitter,  and  the  more  the  better;  and  yet 
with  that  long  line  of  gentlefolk  ancestry,  that  old 
Elizabethan  house  and  estate,  far  above  the  shallow 
splendor  of  modern  dukedoms  or  modern  wealth,  fit 
76 


KATHERINE 

only  to  impress  ignorance  or  vulgarity.  He  had 
money  too,  a  great  deal.  Money  was  a  necessity  if 
one  wanted  a  life  free  for  highest  flights ;  and  she 
added  very  calmly  that  she  might  herself,  after 
consideration,  find  it  possible  to  be  nice  to  him. 
Rather  amusing,  Katherine  thought  it,  to  meet  a 
man  whom  one  could  at  once  docket  as  eligible,  and 
find  him  preoccupied  with  a  dreamy  memory  of 
such  slight  importance  as  Hilda's  child  friendship  ; 
but  Katherine's  certainty  of  the  slightness — and 
this  man  of  forty  looked  anything  but  sentimental — 
left  her  very  tolerant  of  his  preoccupation. 

Hilda  was  a  milestone,  a  very  tiny  milestone  in 
his  life,  and  it  was  to  the  distant  epoch  her  good-bye 
on  that  autumn  night  had  marked  as  ended,  rather 
than  to  the  little  closing  chapter  itself,  that  he  was 
looking.  Indeed  his  next  words  showed  as  much. 

"  How  many  changes — forgive  the  truism,  of 
course — in  ten  years !  Did  you  know  that  my 
sister,  Mrs.  Apswith,  had  half-a-dozen  babies  ?  I 
find  myself  an  uncle  with  a  vengeance." 

"  I  have  n't  seen  Mrs.  Apswith  since  she  was 
married.  It  does  seem  ages  ago,  that  wedding." 

"  Mary  has  drawn  a  lucky  number  in  life,"  said 
Odd  absently. 

"  She  expects  you  to  settle  down  definitely  now, 
I  suppose  ;  in  England,  at  Allersley  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  shall.  I  shall  go  back  to  Allersley  in  a 
few  months.  It  is  rather  lonely." 

"  Why  don't  you  fill  it  with  people  ?  " 

"  You  forget  that  I  don't  like  people,"  said  Odd. 

"  You  prefer  loneliness,  with  your  principles  for 
company.  There  will  be  something  of  martyrdom, 
77 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

then,  when  you  at  last  settle  down  to  your  duty  as 
landowner  and  country  gentleman." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  do  it  without  any  self-glorification. 
Perhaps  you  will  come  back  to  the  Priory.  That 
would  mitigate  the  loneliness." 

"  The  sense  of  our  nearness.  Of  course  you 
would  n't  care  to  see  us !  No,  I  think  I  prefer  Paris 
to  the  Priory." 

"  What  do  you  do  with  yourself  in  Paris?" 

"  Very  little  that  amounts  to  anything,"  Kathe- 
rine  owned  ;  "  one  can't  very  well  when  one  is  poor 
and  not  a  genius.  If  one  is  n't  born  with  them,  one 
must  buy  weapons  before  one  can  fight.  I  feel  I 
should  be  a  pretty  good  fighter  if  I  had  my  weapons ! " 
and  Katherine's  dark  eye,  as  it  flashed  round  on  him 
in  a  smile,  held  the  same  suggestion  of  gallant  dar- 
ing with  which  she  had  impressed  him  on  that 
morning  by  the  river  ten  years  ago.  He  looked  at 
her  contemplatively  ;  the  dark  eyes  pleased  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  think  you  would  be  a  good 
fighter.  What  would  you  fight?  " 

"  The  world,  of  course :  and  one  only  can  with  its 
own  weapons,  more's  the  pity." 

"And  the  flesh  and  the  devil,"  Odd  suggested; 
"  is  this  to  be  a  moral  crusade  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  claim  that.  I  only  want  to 
conquer  for  the  fun  of  conquering ;  '  to  ride  in  tri- 
umph through  Persepolis,'  like  Tamburlaine,  chain 
up  people  I  don't  like  in  cages !  Oh,  of  course,  Per- 
sepolis would  be  a  much  nicer  place  when  once  I 
held  it,  I  should  be  delightful  to  the  people  I 
liked." 

"  And  all  the  others  would  be  in  cages !  " 
78 


KATHERINE 

"  They  would  deserve  it  if  I  put  them  there  !  I  'm 
very  kind-hearted,  very  tolerant." 

"  And  when  you  have  conquered  the  world,  what 
then  ?  As  life  is  not  all  marching  and  caging." 

"  I  shall  live  in  it  after  my  own  fashion.  I  am 
ambitious,  Mr.  Odd,  but  not  meanly  so,  I  assure 
you." 

"  No  ;  not  meanly  so,  I  am  sure."  Odd's  eyes 
were  quietly  scrutinizing,  as,  another  sign  of  the  ten 
years,  he  adjusted  a  pair  of  eyeglasses  and  looked  at 
her,  but  not,  as  Katherine  felt,  unsympathetic. 

"  And  meanwhile  ?  you  will  find  your  weapons  in 
time,  no  doubt,  but,  meanwhile,  what  do  you  do 
with  yourself  ?  " 

"  Meanwhile  I  study  my  milieu.  I  go  out  a  good 
deal,  if  one  can  call  it  going  out  in  this  dubious 
Parisian,  Anglo-American  melange  ;  I  read  a  bit,  and 
I  bicycle  in  the  Bois  with  papa  in  the  morning.  It 
sounds  like  sentimentality,  but  I  do  feel  that  there 
is  an  element  of  tragedy  in  papa  and  myself  bicy- 
cling. Oh,  for  a  ride  across  country  !  " 

"  You  rode  so  well,  too,  Mary  told  me." 

"  Yes,  I  rode  well,  otherwise  I  should  n't  regret 
it."  Katherine  smiled  with  even  more  assurance 
under  the  added  intensity  of  the  pince-nez. 

"  You  enjoy  the  excelling,  then,  more  than  the 
feeling." 

"  That  sounds  vain ;  I  certainly  should  n't  feel 
pleasure  if  I  were  conscious  of  playing  second  fiddle 
to  anybody." 

"A  very  vain  young  lady,"  Odd's  smile  was  quite 
alertly  interested,  "  and  a  self-conscious  young  lady, 
too." 

79 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Yes,  rather,  I  think,"  Katherine  owned ;  frank- 
ness became  her,  "  but  I  am  very  conscious  of  every- 
thing, myself  included.  I  am  merely  one  among 
the  many  phenomena  that  come  under  my  notice, 
and,  as  I  am  the  nearest  of  them  all,  naturally  the 
most  intimately  interesting.  Every  one  is  self- 
conscious,  Mr.  Odd,  if  they  have  any  personality  at 
all." 

"And  you  are  clever,"  Peter  pursued,  in  a  tone  of 
enumeration,  his  smile  becoming  definitely  humor- 
ous as  he  added  :  "  And  I  am  very  impudent." 

Katherine  was  not  sure  that  she  had  made  just 
the  effect  she  had  aimed  for,  but  certainly  Mr.  Odd 
would  give  her  credit  for  frankness. 

It  was  agreed  that  he  should  come  for  tea  the 
next  afternoon. 

"  After  five,"  Katherine  said  ;  "  Hilda  does  n't  get 
in  till  so  late  ;  and  I  know  that  Hilda  is  the  clou  of 
the  occasion." 

"  Does  Hilda  take  her  painting  so  seriously  as  all 
that  ?  " 

"  She  does  n't  care  about  anything,  anything 
else,"  Katherine  said  gravely,  adding,  still  gravely, 
"  Hilda  is  very,  very  lovely." 

"  I  hope  you  were  n't  too  much  disappointed," 

Lady said  to  Odd,  just  before  he  was  going ; 

"  is  she  not  a  charming  girl  ?  " 

"  She  really  is ;  the  disappointment  was  only 
comparative.  It  was  Hilda  whom  I  knew  so  well. 
The  dearest  little  girl." 

"  I  have  not  seen  much  of  her,"  Lady said, 

with  some  vagueness  of  tone.     "  I  have  called  on 

Mrs.  Archinard,  a  very  sweet  woman,  clever,  too ; 

80 


KATHERINE 

but  the  other  girl  was  never  there.  I  don't  fancy 
she  is  much  help  to  her  mother,  you  know,  as  Kathe- 
rine  is.  Katherine  goes  about,  brings  people  to  see 
her  mother,  makes  a  milieu  for  her ;  such  a  sad  in- 
valid she  is,  poor  dear !  But  Hilda  is  wrapt  up  in 
her  work,  I  believe.  Rather  a  pity,  don't  you  think, 
for  a  girl  to  go  in  so  seriously  for  a  fad  like  that  ? 
She  paints  very  nicely,  to  be  sure  ;  I  fancy  it  all 
goes  into  that,  you  know." 

"  What  goes  into  that  ?  "  Odd  asked,  conscious 
of  a  little  temper ;  all  seemed  combined  to  push 
Hilda  more  and  more  into  a  slightly  derogatory  and 
very  mysterious  background. 

"  Well,  she  is  not  so  clever  as  her  sister.  Kathe- 
rine can  entertain  a  roomful  of  people.  Grace,  tact, 
sympathy,  the  impalpable  something  that  makes 
success  of  the  best  kind,  Katherine  has  it." 

Katherine's  friendly,  breezy  frankness  had  cer- 
tainly amused  and  interested  Odd  at  the  dinner- 
table,  but  Lady 's  remarks  now  produced  in  him 

one  of  those  quick  and  unreasoning  little  revulsions 
of  feeling  by  which  the  judgments  of  a  half-hour  be- 
fore are  suddenly  reversed.  Katherine's  cleverness 
was  that  of  the  majority  of  the  girls  he  took 
down  to  dinner,  rather  voulu,  banal,  tiresome.  Odd 
felt  that  he  was  unjust,  also  that  he  was  a  little 
cross. 

"  There  are  some  clevernesses  above  entertaining 
a  roomful  of  people.  After  all,  success  isn't  the 
test,  is  it  ?  " 

Lady smiled,  an  unconvinced  smile — 

"  You  should  be  the  last  person  to  say  that." 

"  I  ?  "  Odd  made  no  attempt  to  contradict  the 
6  81 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

evident  flattery  of  his  hostess'  tones,  but  his  ejacu- 
lation meant  to  himself  a  volume  of  negatives.  If 
success  were  the  test,  he  was  a  sorry  failure. 

He  was  making  his  way  out  of  the  room  when 
Captain  Archinard  stopped  him. 

"  I  have  hardly  had  one  word  with  you,  Odd," 
said  the  Captain,  whose  high-bridged  nose  and  finely 
set  eyes  no  longer  saved  his  face  from  its  funda- 
mental look  of  peevish  pettiness.  "  Mrs.  Brooke  is 
going  to  take  Katherine  home.  It's  a  fine  night, 
won't  you  walk?" 

Odd  accepted  the  invitation  with  no  great  satis- 
faction ;  he  had  never  found  the  Captain  sympathetic. 
After  lifting  their  hats  to  Mrs.  Brooke  and  Katherine 
as  they  drove  out  of  the  Embassy  Courtyard,  the 
two  men  turned  into  the  Rue  du  Faubourg  St. 
Honore"  together. 

"  We  are  not  far  from  you,  you  know,"  the  Cap- 
tain said — "  Rue  Pierre  Charron  ;  you  said  you  were 
in  the  Marbceuf  quarter,  did  n't  you  ?  We  are  rather 
near  the  Trocadero,  uphill,  so  I  '11  leave  you  at  the 
door  of  your  hotel." 

They  lit  cigars  and  walked  on  rather  silently. 
The  late  October  night  was  pleasantly  fresh,  and 
the  Champs  Elyse"es,  as  they  turned  into  it,  almost 
empty  between  the  upward  sweep  of  its  line  of 
lights. 

"  Ten  years  is  a  jolly  long  time,"  remarked  Cap- 
tain Archinard,  "  and  a  jolly  lot  of  disagreeable 
things  may  happen  in  ten  years.  You  knew  we  'd 
left  the  Priory,  of  course  ?  " 

"  I  was  very  sorry  to  hear  it." 

"  Devilish  hard  luck.  It  was  n't  a  choice  of  evils, 
82 


KATHERINE 

though,  if  that  is  any  consolation ;  it  was  that  or 
starvation." 

"  As  bad  as  that  ?  " 

"  Just  as  bad ;  the  horses  went  first,  and  then 
some  speculations — safe  enough  they  seemed,  and, 
sure  enough,  went  wrong.  So  that,  with  one  thing 
and  another,  I  hardly  knew  which  way  to  turn.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  simply  can't  go  back  to  England. 
I  have  a  vague  idea  of  a  perfect  fog  of  creditors.  I 
have  been  able  to  let  the  Priory,  but  the  place  is 
mortgaged  up  to  the  hilt ;  and  devilish  hard  work 
it  is  to  pay  the  interest ;  and  hard  luck  it  is  alto- 
gether," the  Captain  repeated.  "  Especially  hard 
on  a  man  like  me.  My  wife  is  perfectly  happy.  I 
keep  all  worry  from  her ;  she  does  n't  know  any- 
thing about  my  troubles;  she  lives  as  she  has  always 
lived.  I  make  that  a  point,  sacrifice  myself  rather 
than  deprive  her  of  one  luxury."  The  tone  in  which 
the  Captain  alluded  to  his  privations  rather  made 
Peter  doubt  their  reality.  "  And  the  two  children 
live  as  they  enjoy  it  most ;  a  very  jolly  time  they 
have  of  it.  But  what  is  my  life,  I  ask  you  ?  "  The 
Captain's  voice  was  very  resentful.  Odd  almost  felt 
that  he  in  some  way  was  to  blame  for  the  good 
gentleman's  unhappy  situation.  "What  is  my  life, 
I  ask  you  ?  I  go  dragging  from  post  to  pillar  with 
stale  politics  in  the  morning,  and  five  o'clock  tea 
in  grass  widows'  drawing-rooms  for  all  distraction. 
Paris  is  full  of  grass  widows,"  he  added,  with  an  even 
deepened  resentment  of  tone ;  "and  I  never  cared 
much  about  the  play,  and  French  actresses  are  so 
deuced  ugly,  at  least  I  find  them  so,  even  if  I  cared 
about  that  sort  of  thing,  which  I  never  did — much," 
83 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

and  the  Captain  drew  disconsolately  at  his  cigar, 
taking  it  from  his  lips  to  look  at  the  tip  as  they 
passed  beneath  a  lamp. 

"  I  can  hardly  afford  myself  tobacco  any  longer," 
he  declared,  "  smokable  tobacco.  Thought  I  'd  econ- 
omize on  these,  and  they  're  beastly,  like  all  econom- 
ical things !  "  And  the  Captain  cast  away  the  cigar 
with  a  look  of  disgust. 

Peter  offered  him  a  substitute. 

"  You  are  a  lucky  dog,  Odd,  to  come  to  contrasts," 
the  Captain  paused  to  shield  his  lighted  match  as 
he  applied  it  to  the  fresh  cigar ;  "  I  don't  see  why 
things  should  be  so  deuced  uneven  in  this  world. 
One  fellow  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth — 
and  you  Ve  got  a  turn  for  writing,  too  ;  once  one's 
popular,  that 's  the  best  paying  thing  going,  I  sup- 
pose— and  the  other  hunted  all  over  Europe,  through 
no  fault  of  his  own  either.  Rather  hard,  I  think, 
that  the  man  who  does  n't  need  money  should  be 
born  with  a  talent  for  making  it." 

"  It  certainly  is  n't  just." 

"  Damned  unjust." 

Odd  felt  that  he  was  decidedly  a  culprit,  and 
smiled  as  he  smoked  and  walked  beside  the  rebel- 
lious Captain.  He  was  rather  sorry  for  him.  Odd 
had  wide  sympathies,  and  found  whining,  feeble 
futility  pathetic,  especially  as  there  was  a  certain 
amount  of  truth  in  the  Captain's  diatribes,  the  old 
eternal  truth  that  things  are  not  evenly  divided  in 
this  badly  managed  world.  It  would  be  kinder  to 
immediately  offer  the  loan  for  which  the  Captain 
was  evidently  paving  the  way  to  a  request.  But  he 
reflected  that  the  display  of  such  quickness  of  com- 
84 


KATHERINE 

prehension  might  make  the  request  too  easy ;  and  in 
the  future  the  Captain  might  profit  by  a  discovered 
weakness  a  little  too  freely.  He  would  let  him  ask. 
And  the  Captain  was  not  long  in  coming  to  the 
point.  He  was  in  a  devilish  tight  place,  positively 
could  n't  afford  a  pair  of  boots  (Peter's  eyes  invol- 
untarily sought  the  Captain's  feet,  neatly  shod  in 
social  patent-leather),  could  Odd  let  him  have  one 
hundred  pounds  ?  (The  Captain  was  frank  enough 
to  make  no  mention  of  repayment)  etc.,  etc. 

Peter  cut  short  the  explanation  with  a  rather  un- 
wise manifestation  of  sympathetic  comprehension  ; 
the  Captain  went  upstairs  with  him  to  his  room 
when  the  hotel  was  reached,  and  left  it  with  a  check 
for  3000  francs  in  his  pocket ;  the  extra  500  francs 
were  the  price  of  Peter's  readiness. 
85 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  rained  next  day,  and  Peter  took  a.  fiacre  from 
the  Bibliotheque  Nationale,  where  he  had  spent 
the  afternoon  diligently,  and  drove  through  the  gray 
evening  to  the  Rue  Pierre  Charron.  It  was  just 
five  when  he  got  there,  and  already  almost  dark. 
There  were  four  flights  to  be  ascended  before  one 
reached  the  Archinards'  apartment ;  four  steep  and 
rather  narrow  flights,  for  the  house  was  not  one 
of  the  larger  newer  ones,  and  there  was  no  lift. 
Wilson,  whom  Odd  remembered  at  Allersley,  opened 
the  door  to  him.  Captain  Archinard  had  evidently 
not  denuded  himself  of  a  valet  when  he  had  parted 
with  his  horses  ;  that  sacrifice  had  probably  seemed 
too  monstrous,  but  Peter  wondered  rather  whether 
Wilson's  wages  were  ever  paid,  and  thought  it  more 
probable  that  a  mistaken  fidelity  attached  him  to 
his  master.  In  view  of  year-long  arrears,  he  might 
have  found  it  safer  to  stay  with  a  future  possibility 
of  payment  than,  by  leaving,  put  an  end  forever 
to  even  the  hope  of  compensation. 

The  little  entrance  was  very  pretty,  and  the  draw- 
ing-room, into  which  Peter  was  immediately  ushered, 
even  prettier.  Evidently  the  Archinards  had  brought 
their  own  furniture,  and  the  Archinards  had  very 
good  taste.  The  pale  gray-greens  of  the  room  were 
86 


KATHERINE 

charming.  Peter  noticed  appreciatively  the  Copen- 
hagen vases  filled  with  white  flowers  ;  he  could  find 
time  for  appreciation  as  he  passed  to  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard's  sofa,  for  no  one  else  was  in  the  room,  a  fact  of 
which  he  was  immediately  and  disappointedly  aware. 
Mrs.  Archinard  was  really  improved.  Her  husband's 
monetary  embarrassments  had  made  even  less  im- 
pression on  her  than  upon  the  surroundings,  for 
though  the  little  salon  was  very  pretty,  it  was  not 
the  Priory  drawing-room,  and  Mrs.  Archinard  was, 
if  anything,  plumper  and  prettier  than  when  Peter 
had  last  seen  her. 

"  This  is  really  quite  too  delightful !  Quite  too  de- 
lightful, Mr.  Odd  !  "  Mrs.  Archinard's  slender  hand 
pressed  his  with  seemingly  affectionate  warmth. 
"  Katherine  told  us  this  morning  about  the  rencontre. 
I  was  expecting  you,  as  you  see.  Ten  years  !  It 
seems  impossible,  really  impossible  !  "  Still  holding 
his  hand,  she  scanned  his  face  with  her  sad  and 
pretty  smile.  "  I  could  hardly  realize  it,  were  it 
not  that  your  books  lie  here  beside  me,  living  sym- 
bols of  the  years." 

Peter  indeed  saw,  on  the  little  table  by  the  sofa, 
the  familiar  bindings. 

"  I  asked  Katherine  to  get  them  out,  so  that  I 
might  look  over  them  again  ;  strengthen  my  impres- 
sion of  your  personality,  join  all  the  links  before 
meeting  you  again.  Dear,  dear  little  books  ! "  Mrs. 
Archinard  laid  her  hand,  with  its  one  great  emerald 
ring,  on  the  "  Dialogues,"  which  was  uppermost. 
"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Odd  ;  no,  on  this  chair.  The  light 
falls  on  your  face  so.  Yes,  your  books  are  to  me 
among  the  most  exquisite  art  productions  of  our  age. 
87 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

Pater  is  more  ttincellant — a  style  too  jewelled  per- 
haps— one  wearies  of  the  chain  of  rather  heartless 
beauty ;  but  in  your  books  one  feels  the  heart,  the 
aroma  of  life — a  chain  of  flowers,  flowers  do  not 
weary.  Your  personality  is  to  me  very  sympathetic, 
Mr.  Odd,  very  sympathetic." 

Peter  was  conscious  of  being  sorry  for  it. 

"  I  think  we  are  both  of  us  tired."  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard's  smile  grew  even  more  sadly  sweet ;  "  both 
tired,  both  hopeless,  both  a  little  indifferent  too. 
How  few  things  one  finds  to  care  about !  Things 
crumble  so,  once  touched,  do  they  not  ?  Every- 
thing crumbles."  Mrs.  Archinard  sighed,  and,  as 
Peter  found  nothing  to  say  ("  How  dull  a  man  who 
writes  quite  clever  books  can  be  !  "  thought  Mrs. 
Archinard),  she  went  on  in  a  more  commonplace 
tone — 

"  And  you  talked  with  dear  Katherine  last  night ; 
you  pleased  her.  She  told  Hilda  and  me  this  morn- 
ing that  you  really  pleased  her  immensely.  Kathe- 
rine is  hard  to  please.  I  am  proud  of  my  girl,  Mr. 
Odd,  very,  very  proud.  Did  you  not  find  her  quite 
distinctive  ?  Quite  significant  ?  I  always  think  of 
Katherine  as  significant,  many  facetted,  meaning 
much."  The  murmuring  modulations  of  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard's  voice  irritated  Odd  to  such  a  pitch  of  ill-tem- 
per that  he  found  it  difficult  to  keep  his  own  pleasant 
as  he  replied — 

"  Significant  is  most  applicable.  She  is  a  charm- 
ing girl." 

"  Yes,  charming ;  that  too  applies,  and  oh,  what  a 
misapplied  word  it  is !  Every  woman  nowadays 
is  called  charming.  The  daintily  distinctive  term  is 
88 


KATHERINE 

flung  at  the  veriest  schoolroom  hoyden,  as  at  the 
hard,  mechanical  woman  of  the  world." 

Peter  now  said  to  himself  that  Mrs.  Archinard 
was  an  ass — very  unjustly — Mrs.  Archinard  was  far 
from  being  an  ass.  She  felt  the  atmosphere  with 
unerring  promptitude.  Her  effects  were  not  to  be 
made  upon  ce  type  la.  She  welcomed  Katherine's 
entrance  as  a  diversion  from  looming  boredom. 
Katherine  seemed  to  go  in  for  a  regal  simplicity  in 
dress.  Her  gown  was  again  of  velvet,  a  deep  ame- 
thyst color.  The  high  collar  and  the  long  sleeves 
that  came  over  her  white  hands  in  points  were  edged 
with  a  narrow  line  of  sable.  A  necklace  of  ame- 
thysts lightly  set  in  gold  encircled  the  base  of  her 
throat.  Peter  liked  to  see  a  well-dressed  woman,  and 
Katherine  was  more  than  well  dressed.  In  the 
pearly  tints  of  the  room  she  made  a  picture  with  her 
purple  gleams  and  shadows. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Sit  down.  It  is  nice  to 
have  you  in  our  little  diggings.  You  are  like  a  bit 
of  England  sitting  there — a  big  bit !  " 

"  And  you  are  a  perfectly  delightful  condensation 
of  everything  delightfully  Parisian." 

"  The  heart  is  British.  True  oak ! "  laughed 
Katherine  ;  "  don't  judge  me  by  the  foliage." 

"  Ah,  but  it  needs  a  good  deal  of  Gallic  genius  to 
choose  such  foliage." 

"  No,  no.  I  give  the  credit  to  my  American  blood, 
to  mamma.  But  thanks,  very  much.  I  am  glad 
you  are  appreciative."  Katherine  smiled  so  gayly, 
and  looked  so  charmingly  in  the  amethyst  velvet, 
that  Peter  forgot  for  a  moment  to  wonder  where 
Hilda  was,  but  Katherine  did  not  forget. 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  I  expect  Hilda  every  moment.  I  have  told  them 
to  wait  tea  until  she  comes,  poor  dear!  'Them  '  is 
Wilson,  whom  you  saw,  I  suppose  ;  Taylor,  our  old 
maid  ;  and  the  cook  !  The  cook  is  French,  other- 
wise our  staff  is  shrunken,  but  of  the  same  elements. 
One  doesn't  mind  having  no  servants  in  a  little  box 
like  this.  Yes,  mamma,  I  have  paid  all  the  calls, 
and  only  two  people  were  out ;  so  I  deserve  petting 
and  tea.  I  hope  Hilda  will  hurry."  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard's  face  took  on  a  look  of  ill-used  resignation. 

"  We  all  pay  dearly  for  Hilda's  egotism,"  she  re- 
marked, and  for  a  moment  there  was  a  rather  un- 
comfortable silence.  Odd  felt  a  queer  indignation 
and  a  queerer  melancholy  rising  within  him. 

The  Hilda  of  to-day  seemed  far  further  away  than 
the  Hilda  of  ten  years  ago.  They  talked  in  a  rather 
desultory  fashion  for  some  time.  Mrs.  Archinard's 
presence  was  damping,  and  even  Katherine's  smile 
was  like  a  flower  seen  through  rain.  The  little  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece  struck  the  quarter. 

"  Almost  six ! "  exclaimed  Katherine  ;  "  we  must 
have  tea." 

"  Yes,  we  may  sacrifice  ourselves,  but  we  must  not 
sacrifice  Mr.  Odd,"  said  Mrs.  Archinard  with  distinct 
fretfulness.  Taylor  answered  the  bell,  and  Peter, 
with  a  quickness  of  combination  that  surprised  him- 
self, surmised  that  Hilda  was  out  alone.  Had  she 
become  emancipated  ?  Bohemian?  His  melancholy 
grew  stronger.  Tea  was  brought,  a  charming  set  of 
daintiest  white  and  a  little  silver  teapot  of  a  quaint 
and  delicate  design. 

"  Hilda  designed  it  in  Florence,"  said  Katherine, 
seeing  him  looking  at  it ;  "  an  Italian  friend  had  it 
90 


KATHERINE 

made  for  her  after  her  own  model  and  drawings. 
Yes,  Hilda  goes  in  for  decorative  work  a  good  deal. 
People  who  know  about  it  have  admired  that  teapot, 
as  you  do,  I  see." 

"  It 's  a  lovely  thing,"  said  Peter,  as  Katherine 
turned  it  before  him  ;  "  the  simplicity  of  the  outline 
and  the  delicate  bas-relief" — he  bent  his  head  to 
look  more  closely — "exquisite."  And  he  thought 
it  rather  rough  on  Hilda ;  to  pour  the  tea  from  her 
own  teapot  without  waiting  for  her. 

Still,  he  owned,  when  at  last  the  door-bell  rang  at 
fully  half-past  six,  that  he  might  have  been  asking 
for  too  much  patience. 

"  There  she  is,"  said  Katherine  ;  "  I  must  go  and 
tell  her  that  you  are  here."  Katherine  went  out, 
and  Odd  heard  a  murmured  colloquy  in  the  entrance. 
He  was  conscious  of  feeling  excited,  and  uncon- 
sciously rose  to  his  feet  and  looked  eagerly  toward 
the  door.  But  only  Katherine  came  in. 

"I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  see  Hilda!"  he  ex- 
claimed, with  an  assumption  of  exasperation  that 
hid  some  real  nervousness.  Katherine  laughed. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  shall,  in  five  minutes.  She  had  to 
wash  her  face  and  hands.  Artists  are  untidy  people, 
you  know,"  and  Odd,  with  that  same  strange  acute- 
ness  of  perception  with  which  he  seemed  dowered 
this  afternoon,  felt  that  Hilda  had  been  coming  in 
in  all  her  artistic  untidiness,  and  that  Katherine  had 
seen  to  a  more  respectable  entree. 

It  rather  irritated  him  with  Katherine,  and  that 
tactful  young  lady  probably  guessed  at  his  disap- 
pointment, for  she  went  to  the  piano  and  began  to 
play  a  sad  aria  from  one  of  Schumann's  Sonatas  that 
91 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

sighed  and  pled  and  sobbed.  She  played  very  well, 
with  the  same  perfect  taste  that  she  showed  in  her 
gowns,  and  Peter  was  too  fond  of  music,  too  fond 
of  Schumann  especially,  not  to  listen  to  her. 

In  the  middle  of  the  aria  Hilda  came  in.  It  was 
over  in  a  moment,  the  meeting,  as  the  most  exciting 
things  in  life  are.  Peter  had  not  realized  till  the 
moment  came  how  much  it  would  excite  him. 

Hilda  came  in  and  walked  up  to  him.  She  put 
her  hand  in  his  with  all  the  pretty  gravity  he  remem- 
bered in  the  child.  Odd  took  the  other  hand  too 
and  stared  at  her.  He  was  conscious  then  of  being 
very  much  excited,  and  conscious  that  she  was  not. 

Her  eyes  were  "big  and  vague,"  but  they  were 
the  most  beautiful  eyes  he  had  ever  seen,  and  the 
vagueness  was  only  in  a  certain  lack  of  expression, 
for  they  looked  straight  into  his.  Carried  along  by 
that  first  impulse  of  excitement,  despite  the  little 
shock  of  half-felt  disappointment,  Peter  bent  his 
head  and  kissed  her  on  each  cheek. 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  Katherine,  still  striking  soft  chords 
at  the  piano,  "  Bravo,  Mr.  Odd !  considering  your 
first  meeting  and  your  last  parting,  you  have  a 
right  to  that !  "  And  Katherine  laughed  pleasantly, 
though  she  was  a  trifle  displeased. 

"  Yes,  I  have,  have  n't  I  ?  "  said  Peter,  smiling. 
He  still  held  Hilda's  hands.  The  little  flush  that 
had  come  to  her  cheeks  when  he  had  kissed  her  was 
gone,  and  she  looked  very  white. 

"  Are  you  glad  to  see  me,  Hilda?  "  he  asked  ;  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  but  it  comes  naturally  to  call  you 
that." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Odd,"  Hilda 
92 


KATHERINE 

smiled.  Her  voice  was  very  like  the  child's  voice 
saying,  "  I  thank  you  very  much,"  ten  years  ago. 
The  same  voice,  grave  and  gentle.  Odd  had  ex- 
pected some  little  warmth,  some  little  embarrass- 
ment even,  in  the  girl,  considering  the  parting  from 
the  child.  But  Hilda  did  not  show  any  warmth, 
neither  did  she  seem  at  all  embarrassed,  and  Odd 
felt  rather  as  one  does  when  an  unnecessary  down- 
ward stride  reveals  level  ground  where  one  expected 
another  step.  He  had  stumbled  a  little,  and  now, 
half  ruefully,  half  humorously,  he  considered  the 
child  Hilda  grown  up.  She  sat  down  near  her 
mother. 

"  I  am  so  sorry.  I  am  afraid  you  waited  for  me," 
she  said,  bending  towards  her ;  "  I  really  could  n't 
help  it,  mamma." 

"  No,  I  think  it  kindest  to  consider  you  irrespon- 
sible ;  there  is  certainly  an  element  of  insanity  in 
your  exaggerated  devotion  to  your  work."  Mrs. 
Archinard  smiled  acidly,  and  Hilda,  Odd  thought, 
did  look  a  little  embarrassed  now.  He  had  ad- 
justed himself  to  the  reality  of  the  present,  and  was 
able  to  study  her.  The  same  Botticelli  Madonna 
mouth,  the  same  Gainsborough  eyes;  the  skin  of 
dazzling  whiteness — an  almost  unnatural  white — 
but  she  was  evidently  tired. 

Certainly  her  black  gown  looked  strangely  be- 
side Katherine's  velvet,  Mrs.  Archinard's  silk  and 
laces.  Odd  saw  that  there  was  mud  on  the  skirt, 
a  very  short  skirt,  and  Hilda's  legs  were  very  long. 
She  had  walked,  then.  His  own  paternal  solici- 
tude struck  him  as  amusing,  and  rather  touching, 
as  he  glanced  at  her  slim  feet,  to  see  with  satis- 
93 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

faction  that  wet  boots  had  been  replaced  by  patent- 
leather  shoes — heelless  little  shoes. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  work  too  much,  you  tire  your- 
self," he  said,  for  after  her  mother's  rebuff  she  had 
sunk  back  in  her  chair  with  a  weary  lassitude  of 
pose.  Hilda  immediately  sat  up  straightly,  giving 
him  an  almost  frightened  glance.  How  unchanged 
the  little  face,  though  the  cloud  of  her  hair  no  longer 
framed  it.  Hilda's  hair  was  as  smooth  as  her  sister's, 
only  it  was  brushed  straight  back,  and  the  soft 
blue-black  coils  were  massed  from  ear  to  ear,  and 
showed,  in  a  coronet-like  effect  above  her  head, 
almost  too  much  hair ;  it  emphasized  the  pale  fra- 
gility of  her  look. 

"  Oh  no,  I  am  not  tired,'*  she  said,  "  not  particu- 
larly. I  walked  home,  you  see.  I  am  very  fond  of 
walking." 

"  Hilda  is  fond  of  such  funny  things,"  said  Kathe- 
rine,  coming  from  the  piano,  "of  walking  in  the 
mud  and  rain  for  instance.  She  is  the  most  persist- 
ently, consistently  energetic  person  I  ever  knew." 
Katherine  paused  pleasantly  as  though  for  Hilda  to 
speak,  but  Hilda  said  nothing  and  looked  even  more 
vague  than  before,  almost  dull  in  fact. 

"  Well,  she  has  had  no  tea,"  said  Odd,  "  and 
after  mud  and  rain  that  is  rather  cruel,  even  as  a 
punishment." 

Again  Hilda  gave  him  the  alarmed  quick  glance ; 
his  eyes  were  humorously  kind,  and  she  smiled  a 
slight  little  smile, 

"  Some  tea !  "  Katherine  cried  ;  "  my  poor  Hilda, 
I  'm  afraid  it  is  hard-boiled  by  this  time  " — she  laid 


94 


KATHERINE 

her  hand  on  the  teapot — "  and  almost  cold.  Shall  I 
heat  some  more  water,  dear?  " 

"  Oh !  don't  think  of  it,  Katherine,  it  is  almost 
dinner-time." 

"  Must  I  be  off  ?  "  asked  Odd,  laughing. 

"  How  absurd  ;  we  don't  dine  till  eight,"  Kathe- 
rine said. 

"It  wasn't  a  hint  to  me,  then,  Hilda?"  Hilda 
looked  helplessly  distressed. 

"A  hint?  Oh  no,  no.  How  could  you  think 
that  ?  " 

"  I  was  only  joking.  I  did  n't  really  believe  you 
so  anxious  to  get  rid  of  an  old  friend."  Odd,  with 
some  determination,  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down 
beside  her. 

"  I  want  to  see  a  great  deal  of  you  if  you  will  let 
me." 

"  No  one  sees  much  of  Hilda,  not  even  her  own 
mother,"  said  Mrs.  Archinard  from  her  sofa.  "  It 
is  terrible  indeed  to  feel  oneself  a  cumberer  of  the 
earth,  unable  to  suffice  to  oneself,  far  less  to  others. 
With  my  failing  eyesight  I  simply  cannot  read  by 
lamplight,  and  there  are  three  or  four  hours  at  this 
season  when  I  am  absolutely  without  resources. 
Yet  even  those  hours  Hilda  cannot  give  me." 

Hilda  now  looked  so  painfully  embarrassed  that 
Odd  was  perforce  obliged,  for  very  pity's  sake,  to 
avert  his  eyes  from  her  face. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Odd,"  Mrs.  Archinard  went  on,  "  you 
do  not  know  what  that  is.  To  lie  in  the  gray  dusk 
and  watch  one's  own  gray,  gray  thoughts." 

"  It  must  be  very  unpleasant,"  Odd  owned  unwill- 
ingly, feeling  that  his  character  of  old  friend  was 
95 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

being  rather  imposed  upon  ;  this  degree  of  intimacy 
was  certainly  unwarranted. 

"  Now,  mamma,  you  usually  have  friends  every 
afternoon,"  said  Katherine,  in  her  pleasant,  even 
voice.  She  was  preparing  some  fresh  tea.  "  You 
make  me  as  well  as  Hilda  feel  a  culprit." 

"  No,  my  dear."  Mrs.  Archinard's  deep  sense  of 
accumulated  injury  evidently  got  quite  the  better 
of  her  manners.  "  No,  my  dear,  you  never  could 
read  aloud  and  never  did.  I  never  asked  it  of  you. 
You  are  really  occupied  as  a  girl  should  be.  At  all 
events  you  fulfil  your  social  duties.  You  see  that 
people  come  to  see  me.  As  I  cannot  go  out,  as 
Hilda  will  not,  I  really  don't  know  what  I  should 
do  were  it  not  for  you.  And,  as  it  is,  no  one  came 
this  afternoon  until  Mr.  Odd  made  his  welcome 
appearance." 

"  But  Mr.  Odd  came  at  five,  and  you  always  read 
till  then."  Katherine's  voice  was  gently  playful. 
Hilda  had  not  said  one  word,  and  her  expression 
seemed  now  absolutely  dogged. 

"  At  this  season,  Katherine  !  You  forget  that  it 
is  night  by  four  !  And  how  a  girl  with  any  regard 
for  her  mother's  wishes  can  walk  about  the  streets 
of  Paris  alone  after  that  hour  it  passes  my  compre- 
hension to  understand." 

"  Do  you  care  about  bicycling,  Mr.  Odd  ?  "  The 
change  was  abrupt  but  welcome.  "  Because  I  am 
going  to  the  Bois  to-morrow  morning,  and  alone 
for  once."  Katherine  smiled  at  him  over  the  kettle 
which  she  was  lifting.  "  Papa  has  deserted  me." 

"  I  should  enjoy  it   immensely.     And    you,"  he 
looked  at  Hilda,  "won't  you  come?" 
96 


KATHERINE 

"  Oh,  I  can't,"  said  Hilda,  with  a  troubled  look. 
"  Thanks  so  much." 

"  Oh  no,  Hilda  can't,"  laughed  Mrs.  Archinard. 

"And  where  is  the  Captain  off  to  ? "  queried 
Peter  hastily.  He  felt  that  he  would  like  to  shake 
Mrs.  Archinard.  Hilda's  stubborn  silence  might 
certainly  be  irritating,  and  Odd  had  sympathy  for 
parental  claims  and  wishes,  especially  concerning  the 
advisability  of  a  beautiful  girl  walking  in  the  streets 
at  night  unescorted,  sacrificed  to  youthful  conceit ; 
but  Mrs.  Archinard's  personality  certainly  weakened 
all  claims,  and  her  taste  was  as  certainly  atrocious. 

"  Papa,."  said  Katherine,  pouring  out  the  tea,  "  is 
going  to-morrow  morning  to  the  Riviera.  Lucky 
papa  !  "  Odd  thought  with  some  amusement  of  the 
£120  that  constituted  papa's  "  luck."  "  I  have  only 
been  once  to  Monte  Carlo,  and  I  won  such  a  lot. 
Only  imagine  how  forty  pounds  turned  my  head. 
I  revelled  in  hats  and  gloves  for  a  whole  year.  Then 
we  go  to-morrow,  Mr.  Odd  ?  I  have  my  own  bicy- 
cle. I  have  kept  it  near  the  Porte  Dauphine,  and 
you  can  hire  a  very  nice  one  at  the  same  place." 

"  May  I  call  for  you  here  at  ten,  then  ?  Will  that 
suit  you  ?" 

"  Very  well."  Odd  watched  Katherine  as  she 
carried  the  tea  and  cake  to  her  sister.  Hilda  gave 
a  little  start. 

"  O  Katherine,  how  good  of  you  !  I  did  n't  realize 
what  you  were  doing." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  good,  my  pet,"  said  Katherine 
in  a  low,  gentle  voice.  Peter  thought  it  a  pretty 
little  scene. 

"  A  great  deal  of  latitude  must  be  granted  to  the 
97 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

young  person  who  invented  that  teapot,"  he  said  to 
Hilda.  "  One  must  work  hard  to  do  anything  in 
art,  mustn't  one  ?  A  most  lovely  teapot,  Hilda." 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it."  Hilda  smiled  her  thanks, 
but  her  eyes  still  expressed  that  distance  and  re- 
serve that  showed  no  consciousness  of  the  past,  no 
intention  of  admitting  it  as  a  link  to  the  present. 
She  did  not  seem  exactly  shy,  but  her  whole  man- 
ner was  passive — negative.  Katherine  probably 
thought  that  Mr.  Odd  had  by  this  time  realized  the 
futility  of  an  attempt  to  draw  out  the  unresponsive 
artist,  for  she  seated  herself  between  Odd  and  the 
sofa,  thus  protecting  Hilda  from  Mrs.  Archinard's 
severities  and  Odd  from  the  ineffectual  necessity  for 
talking  to  Hilda.  Odd  thought  that  were  Kathe- 
rine and  Mrs.  Archinard  not  there  he  might  have 
"  come  at  "  Hilda,  but  the  sense  of  ease  Katherine 
brought  with  her  was  undeniable.  She  was  charm- 
ingly mistress  of  herself,  made  him  talk,  appealed 
prettily  to  her  mother,  who  even  gave  more  than 
one  melancholy  laugh,  and,  with  a  tactful  give  and 
take,  yet  kept  the  reins  of  conversation  well  within 
her  own  hands. 

Odd  found  her  a  nice  girl,  but  the  undercurrent 
of  his  thought  dwelt  on  Hilda,  and  at  every  gayety 
of  Katherine's,  his  eyes  sought  her  sister's  face  ; 
Hilda's  eyes  were  always  fixed  on  Katherine,  and 
she  smiled  a  certain  dumbly  admiring  smile.  As  he 
sat  near  her,  he  could  see  that  the  little  black  dress 
was  very  shabby.  He  could  not  have  associated 
Hilda  with  real  untidiness,  and  indeed  the  dress  with 
its  white  linen  cuffs  and  collar,  its  inevitable  grace 
of  severely  simple  outline,  was  neat  to  an  almost 
98 


KATHERINE 

painful  degree.  Hilda's  artistic  proclivities  perhaps 
showed  themselves  in  shiny  seams  and  careful  darns 
and  patches. 

When  he  rose  to  go  he  took  her  hands  again ;  he 
hoped  that  his  persistency  did  not  make  him  appear 
rather  foolish. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  won't  come  to-morrow.  May  I 
hope  for  another  day?" 

"  I  can't  come  to-morrow  " — there  was  a  touch  of 
self-defence  in  Hilda's  smile — "  but  perhaps  some 
other  day.  I  should  love  to,"  she  finished  rather 
abruptly. 

"But  you  will  be  different — I  will  be  different. 
We  will  both  be  changed,"  repeated  itself  in  Odd's 
mind  as  he  walked  down  the  Rue  Pierre  Charron. 
Poor  little  child-voice !  how  sadly  it  sounded.  How 
true  had  been  the  prophecy. 
99 


CHAPTER  III 

T)ETER  ODD,  at  this  epoch  of  his  life,  felt  that 
JL  he  was  resting  on  his  oars  and  drifting.  He 
had  spent  his  life  in  strenuous  rowing.  He  had 
seen  much,  thought  much,  done  much ;  yet  he  had 
made  for  no  goal,  and  had  won  no  race  ;  how  should 
he,  when  he  had  not  yet  made  up  his  mind  that 
racing  for  anything  was  worth  while  ? 

Perhaps  the  two  years  in  Parliament  had  most 
closely  savored  of  consciously  applied  contest,  and 
in  that  contest  Odd  considered  himself  beaten,  and 
its  efforts  as  though  they  had  never  been.  Every 
one  had  told  him  that  to  bring  the  student's  ideals 
into  the  political  arena  was  to  insure  defeat ;  one's 
friends  would  consider  a  carefully  discriminating 
honesty  and  broad-mindedness  mere  disloyal  luke- 
warmness,  foolish  hair-splitting  feebleness ;  one's 
enemies  would  rejoice  and  triumph  in  the  impar- 
tiality of  an  opponent.  Certainly  he  had  been  de- 
feated, and  he  could  not  see  that  his  example  had 
in  any  way  been  effectual.  At  all  events,  he  had 
held  to  the  ideals. 

His  fine  critical  taste  found  even  his  own  books 
but  crude  and  partial  expressions  of  still  groping 
thoughts.  His  unexpressed  intention,  good  indeed, 
if  one  might  so  call  its  indefiniteness,  had  been  to 
make  the  world  better  for  having  lived  in  it ;  better, 
100 


KATHERINE 

or  at  least  wiser.  But  he  doubted  the  saving  power 
of  his  own  sceptical  utterances ;  the  world  could  not 
be  saved  by  the  balancings  of  a  mind  that  saw  the 
tolerant  point  of  view  of  every  question,  a  mind 
itself  so  unassured  of  results.  A  strong  dash  of 
fanaticism  is  necessary  for  success,  and  Odd  had 
not  the  slightest  flavor  of  fanaticism.  Perhaps  he 
had  given  a  little  pleasure  in  his  more  purely  literary 
studies,  and  Peter  thought  that  he  would  stick  to 
them  in  the  future,  but  he  had  put  the  future  away 
from  him  just  now.  He  had  only  returned  from  the 
great  passivity  of  the  Orient  a  few  weeks  ago,  and 
its  example  seemed  to  denote  drifting  as  the  su- 
preme wisdom.  No  effort,  no  desire;  a  peaceful 
receptivity,  a  peaceful  acceptance  of  the  smiles  or 
buffets  of  fate  ;  that  was  Odd's  ideal — for  the  present. 
He  was  a  little  sick  of  everything.  The  Occidental's 
energy  for  combat  was  lulled  within  him,  and  the 
Occidental's  individualistic  tendencies  seemed  to 
stretch  themselves  in  a  long  yawn  expressive  of  an 
amused  and  tolerant  observation  free  from  striving; 
and,  for  an  Occidental,  this  mood  is  dangerous. 
Odd  also  did  a  good  deal  of  listening  to  very  modern 
and  very  clever  French  talk.  He  knew  many  clever 
Frenchmen.  He  did  not  agree  with  all  of  them, 
but,  as  he  was  not  sure  of  his  own  grounds  for  dis- 
agreement, he  held  his  peace  and  listened  smilingly. 
Certainly  the  exclusively  artistic  standpoint  was  a 
most  comforting  and  absorbing  plaything  to  fall 
back  on. 

Peter's  friends  talked  of  the  amusing  and  touching 
spectacle  of  the  universe.  The  representation  of 
each  man's  illusion  on  the  subject,  and  the  manner 

IOI 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

of  that  representation,  were  never-ceasing  sources 
of  interest.  Peter  also  read  a  little  at  the  Biblio- 
theque  Nationale,  paid  a  few  calls,  dined  out  pretty 
constantly,  and  bicycled  a  great  deal  in  the  morn- 
ings with  Katherine  Archinard.  She  understood 
things  well,  and  her  taste  was  as  sure  and  as  delicate 
as  even  Odd  could  ask.  Katherine  had  absorbed  a 
great  deal  of  culture  during  her  wanderings,  and  it 
would  have  taken  a  long  time  for  any  one  to  find 
out  that  it  was  of  a  rather  second-hand  quality,  and 
sought  more  for  attainment  than  for  enjoyment. 
Katherine  talked  with  clever  people  and  read  clever 
reviews,  and  being  clever  herself,  with  a  very  acute 
critical  taste,  she  knew  with  the  utmost  refinement 
of  perception  just  what  to  like  and  just  what  to  dis- 
like ;  and  as  she  tolerated  only  the  very  best,  her 
liking  gave  value.  Yet  au  fond  Katherine  did  not 
really  care  even  for  the  very  very  best.  Her  ap- 
preciation was  negative.  She  excelled  in  a  finely 
smiling,  superior  scorn,  and  could  pick  flaws  in 
almost  any  one's  enjoyment,  if  she  chose  to  do  so. 
Katherine,  however,  was  kind-hearted  and  tactful, 
and  did  not  arouse  dislike  by  displaying  her  clever- 
ness except  to  people  who  would  like  it.  Enthusiasm 
was  banal,  and  Katherine  was  not  often  required  to 
feign  where  she  did  not  feel  it ;  her  very  rigor  and  ex- 
clusiveness  of  taste  implied  an  appreciation  too  high 
for  expression  ;  but  Katherine  had  no  enthusiasm. 

Her  rebellious  and  iconoclastic  young  energy 
amused  Odd.  He  thought  her  rather  pathetic  in 
a  way.  There  was  a  look  of  daring  and  revolt  in 
her  eye  that  pleased  his  lazy  spirit.  Meanwhile 
Hilda  troubled  him. 

1 02 


KATHERINE 

Would  she  never  bicycle?  Katherine,  wheeling 
lightly  erect  beside  him,  gave  the  little  shake  of 
the  head  and  shrug  of  the  shoulders  characteristic 
of  her.  She  evidently  found  no  fault  with  Hilda. 
Others  might  do  so — the  shrug  implied  that, 
implied  as  well  that  Katherine  herself  perhaps 
owned  that  her  sister's  impracticable  unreason  gave 
grounds  for  fault-finding — but  Hilda  was  near  her 
heart. 

When  could  he  see  her?  That,  too,  seemed 
wrapped  in  the  general  cloud  of  vagueness,  un- 
accountableness  that  surrounded  Hilda.  Odd  called 
twice  in  the  evening ;  once  to  be  received  by  Kathe- 
rine alone,  Hilda  was  already  in  deshabille  it  seemed, 
and  once  to  find  not  even  Katherine  ;  she  was  dining 
out,  and  Miss  Hilda  in  bed.  In  bed  at  nine ! 
"  Was  she  ill  ?  "  he  asked  of  Taylor.  Wilson  had 
evidently  accompanied  the  Captain. 

"  No  wonder  if  she  were,  sir,"  Taylor  had  replied, 
with  a  touch  of  the  grievance  in  her  tone  that  Hilda 
always  seemed  to  arouse  in  those  about  her  ;  "  but 
no,  she  's  only  that  tired  !  "  and  Odd  departed  with 
a  deepened  sense  of  Hilda's  wilful  immolation. 
Katherine  brought  him  home  to  lunch  on  several 
occasions  after  the  bicycling,  but  Hilda  was  never 
there.  She  lunched  at  her  studio. 

On  a  third  call  Hilda  appeared,  but  only  as  he 
was  on  the  point  of  going.  She  wore  the  same 
black  dress,  and  the  same  look  of  unnatural 
pallor. 

"  Hilda,"  said  Odd,  for  amid  these  unfamiliar  con- 
ditions he  still  used  the  familiar  appellation,  "  I  must 
see  the  cause  of  all  this." 

103 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"Of  what?  "  Her  smile  was  certainly  the  sweet 
smile  he  remembered. 

"  Of  this  unearthly  devotion  ;  these  white  cheeks." 

"  Hilda  is  naturally  pale,"  put  in  Mrs  Archinard  ; 
"  she  has  my  skin.  But,  of  course,  now  she  is  a 
ghost." 

"  Well,  I  want  to  see  the  haunted  studio.  I  want 
to  see  the  masterpieces."  Odd  spoke  with  a  touch 
of  gentle  irony  that  did  not  seem  to  offend  Hilda. 

"  You  will  see  nothing  either  uncanny  or  unusual." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,  when  can  I  come  to  see  you 
in  your  studio  ?  "  The  vague  look  crossed  Hilda's 
smile. 

"  You  see — I  work  very  hard  ;  "  she  hesitated, 
seemed  even  to  cast  a  beseeching  glance  at  Kathe- 
rine,  standing  near.  Katherine  was  watching  her. 

"  She  is  getting  ready  her  pictures  for  the  Champs 
de  Mars.  But,  Hilda,  Mr.  Odd  may  come  some 
morning." 

"  Oh  yes.  Some  morning.  I  thought  you  always 
bicycled  in  the  morning.  I  wish  you  would  come, 
it  would  be  so  nice  to  see  you  there  !  "  she  spoke 
with  a  gay  and  sudden  warmth  ;  "  only  you  must 
tell  me  when  to  expect  you.  My  studio  must  be 
looking  nicely  and  my  model  presentable." 

"  I  will  take  Mr.  Odd  to-morrow,"  said  Katherine, 
"  he  would  never  find  his  way." 

"  Thanks,  that  will  be  very  jolly,"  said  Odd, 
conscious  that  an  unescorted  visit  would  have  been 
more  so,  yet  wondering  whether  Hilda  alone  might 
not  be  more  disconcerting  than  Hilda  aided  and 
abetted  by  her  sister. 

So  the  next  morning  he  called  for  Katherine,  and 
104 


KATHERINE 

they  walked  to  a  veritable  nest  of  ateliers  near  the 
Place  des  Ternes,  where  they  climbed  interminable 
stairs  to  the  very  highest  studio  of  all,  and  here, 
in  very  bare  and  business-like  surroundings,  they 
found  Hilda.  She  left  her  easel  to  open  the  door 
to  them.  A  red-haired  woman  was  lying  on  a  sofa 
in  a  far,  dim  corner,  a  vase  of  white  flowers  at  her 
head.  There  was  a  big  linen  apron  of  butcher's  blue 
over  the  black  dress,  and  Hilda  looked  very  neat, 
less  pallid,  too,  than  Odd  had  seen  her  look  as  yet. 
Her  skin  had  blue  shadows  under  the  chin  and 
nose,  and  a  blue  shadow  made  a  mystery  beneath 
the  long  sweep  of  her  eyebrows  and  about  her 
beautiful  eyes.  But  when  she  turned  her  head  to 
the  light,  Odd  saw  that  the  lips  were  red  and  the 
cheeks  freshly  and  faintly  tinted. 

He  was  surprised  by  the  picture  on  the  big  easel ; 
the  teapot  had  not  prepared  him  for  it.  A  rather 
small  picture,  the  figure  flung  to  its  graceful,  lazy 
length,  only  a  fourth  life-size.  It  was  a  picture  of 
elusive  shadows,  touched  with  warmer  lights  in  its 
grays  and  greens.  The  woman's  half-hidden  face 
was  exquisite  in  color.  The  sweep  of  her  pale 
gown,  half  lost  in  demi-tint,  lay  over  her  like  the 
folded  wings  of  a  tired  moth.  The  white  flowers 
stood  like  dreams  in  the  dreamy  atmosphere. 

"  Hilda,  I  can  almost  forgive  you."  Odd  stood 
staring  before  the  canvas ;  he  had  put  on  his  eye- 
glass. "  Really  this  atones." 

"  Is  n't  it  wonderfully  simple,  wonderfully  decora- 
tive ?  "  said  Katherine,  "  all  those  long,  sleepy  lines. 
My  clever  little  Hilda  !  " 

"  My  clever,  clever  little  Hilda  !  "  Odd  repeated, 
105 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

turning  to  look  at  the  young  artist.  Her  eyes  met 
his  with  their  wide,  sweet  gaze  that  said  nothing. 
Hilda  was  evidently  only  capable  of  saying  things 
on  canvas. 

"  It  is  lovely." 

"  You  like  it  really  ?  " 

"  I  really  think  it  is  about  as  charming  a  picture 
as  I  have  seen  a  woman  do.  So  womanly  too." 
Odd  turned  to  Katherine,  it  was  difficult  not  to 
merge  Hilda  in  her  art,  not  to  talk  about  her  talent 
as  a  thing  apart  from  her  personality  :  "  She  ex- 
presses herself,  she  does  n't  imitate." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  rather  unwomanly,"  laughed 
Katherine  :  "  a  crawling  imitativeness  seems  un- 
fortunately characteristic.  Certainly  Hilda  has 
none  of  it.  She  has  inspired  me  with  hopes  for  my 
sex." 

"  Really  cleverer  than  Madame  Morisot,"  said 
Odd,  looking  back  to  the  canvas,  "  delightful  as  she 
is  !  She  could  touch  a  few  notes  surely,  gracefully  ; 
Hilda  has  got  hold  of  a  chord.  Yes,  Hilda,  you  are 
an  artist.  Have  you  any  others  ?  " 

Hilda  brought  forward  two.  One  was  a  small 
study  of  a  branch  of  pink  blossoms  in  a  white  porce- 
lain vase  ;  the  other  a  woman  in  white  standing  at  a 
window  and  looking  out  at  the  twilight.  This  last 
was,  perhaps,  the  cleverest  of  the  three ;  the  lines  of 
the  woman's  back,  shoulder,  profit  perdu,  astonish- 
ingly beautiful. 

"  You  are  fond  of  dreams  and  shadows,  are  n't 
you?" 

"  I  have  n't  a  very  wide  range,  but  one  can  only 
try  to  do  the  things  one  is  fitted  for.  I  like  all  sorts 
106 


KATHERINE 

of  pictures,  but  I  like  to  paint  demi-tints  and  twi- 
lights and  soft  lamplight  effects." 

" '  Car  nous  voulons  la  nuance  encor — 
pas  la  couleur,  rien  que  la  nuance,' " 

chanted  Katherine.  "  Hilda  lives  in  dreams  and 
shadows,  I  think,  Mr.  Odd,  so  naturally  she  paints 
them.  '  L'art  cest  la  nature,  vue  a  travers  un  tem- 
perament. Excuse  my  spouting." 

"  So  your  temperament  is  a  stuff  that  dreams  are 
made  of.  Well,  Hilda,  make  as  many  as  you  can. 
Hello  !  is  that  another  old  friend  I  see?  "  On  turn- 
ing to  Hilda  he  had  caught  sight  of  a  dachshund — 
rather  white  about  the  muzzle,  but  very  luminous 
and  gentle  of  eye — stretching  himself  from  a  nap 
behind  the  little  stove  in  the  corner.  He  came  to- 
ward them  with  a  kindly  wag  of  the  tail. 

"  Is  this  Palamon  or  Arcite?" 

A  change  came  over  Hilda's  face. 

"  That  is  Palamon  ;  poor  old  Palamon.  Arcite 
fulfilled  his  character  by  dying  first." 

"And  Darwin  and  Spencer?  " 

"  Dead,  too  ;  Spencer  was  run  over." 

"  Poor  old  Palamon  !  Poor  old  dog  !  "  Odd  had 
lifted  the  dog  in  his  arms,  and  was  scratching  the 
silky  smooth  ears  as  only  a  dog-lover  knows  how. 
Palamon's  head  slowly  turned  to  one  side  in  an 
ecstasy  of  appreciation.  Odd  looked  down  at 
Hilda.  Katherine  was  behind  him.  "  Poor  Pala- 
mon,'allone,  withouten  any  companye.' "  Hilda's 
eyes  met  his  in  a  sad,  startled  look,  then  she  dropped 
them  to  Palamon,  who  was  now  putting  out  his 
tongue  towards  Odd's  face  with  grateful  emotion. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  gently,  putting  her  hand  caress- 
107 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

ingly  on  the  dog's  head  ;  her  slim,  cold  fingers  just 
brushed  Odd's ;  "  yes,  poor  Palamon."  She  was 
silent,  and  there  was  silence  behind  them,  for  Kath- 
erine,  with  her  usual  good-humored  tact,  was  ex- 
amining the  picture.  The  model  on  the  sofa 
stretched  her  arms  and  yawned  a  long,  scraping 
yawn.  Palamon  gave  a  short,  brisk  bark,  and  looked 
quickly  and  suspiciously  round  the  studio.  Both 
Odd  and  Hilda  laughed. 

"  But  not  '  allone,'  after  all,"  said  Odd.  "  Is  he  a 
great  deal  with  you  ?  That  is  a  different  kind  of 
company,  but  Palamon  is  the  gainer." 

"  We  must  n't  judge  Palamon  by  our  own  stand- 
ards," smiled  Hilda,  "though  highly  civilized  dogs 
like  him  don't  show  many  social  instincts  towards 
their  own  kind.  He  did  miss  Arcite  though,  at  first, 
I  am  sure ;  but  he  certainly  is  not  lonely.  I  bring 
him  here  with  me,  and  when  I  am  at  home  he  is 
always  in  my  room.  I  think  all  the  walking  he  gets 
is  good  for  him.  You  see  in  what  good  condition 
he  is." 

Palamon  still  showing  signs  of  restlessness  over  the 
yawn,  Odd  put  him  down.  He  was  evidently  on 
cordial  terms  with  the  model,  for  he  trotted  affably 
toward  her,  standing  with  a  lazy,  smiling  wave  of 
the  tail  before  her,  while  she  addressed  him  with 
discreetly  low-toned,  whispering  warmth  as  "  Mon 
cJiou !  Mon  bijou !  Mon  petit  lapin  a  la  sauce 
blanche  !  " 

"  Don't  you  get  very  tired  working  here  all  day  ?  " 
Odd  asked. 

"  Sometimes.  But  anything  worth  doing  makes 
one  tired,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

108 


KATHERINE 

"You  take  your  art  very  seriously,  Hilda?" 

"  Sometimes — yes — I  take  it  seriously."  Hilda 
smiled  her  slight,  reserved  smile. 

"  Well,  I  can't  blame  you  ;  you  really  have  some- 
thing to  say." 

"  Hilda,  I  am  afraid  we  are  becoming  de  trop.  I 
must  carry  you  off,  Mr.  Odd.  Hilda's  moments  are 
golden." 

"That  is  a  sisterly  exaggeration,"  said  Hilda. 
Had  all  her  personality  gone  into  her  pictures? 
was  she  a  self-centred  little  egotist  ?  Odd  won- 
dered, as  he  and  Katherine  walked  away  together. 
Katherine's  warmly  human  qualities  seemed  par- 
ticularly consoling  after  the  chill  of  the  abstract  one 
felt  in  Hilda's  studio. 

109 


CHAPTER  IV 

"T)ETER,  she   is   a  nice,  a  clever,  a   delightful 

JT       girl,"  said  Mary  Apswith. 

Mrs.  Apswith  sat  in  a  bright  little  salon  overlook- 
ing the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  For  her  holiday  week  of 
shopping  Peter's  hotel  was  not  central  enough,  but 
Peter  himself  was  at  her  command  from  morning 
till  night.  He  stood  before  her  now,  his  back  to 
the  flaming  logs  in  the  fireplace,  looking  alternately 
down  at  his  boots  and  up  at  his  sister.  Peter's  face 
wore  an  amused  but  pleasant  smile.  Katherine 
must  certainly  be  nice,  clever,  and  delightful,  to 
have  won  Mary,  usually  so  slow  in  friendship. 

"  Whether  she  is  deep — deeply  good,  I  mean — I 
don't  know ;  one  can't  tell.  But,  at  all  events,  she 
is  sincere  to  the  core."  Mary  had  called  on  the 
Archinards  some  days  ago,  and  had  seen  Katherine 
every  day  since  then. 

Mary's  stateliness  had  not  become  buxom.  The 
fine  lines  of  her  face  had  lost  their  former  touch  of 
heaviness.  Her  gray  hair — grayer  than  Peter's — 
and  fresh  skin  gave  her  a  look  of  merely  perfected 
maturity.  Life  had  gone  well  with  her ;  everybody 
said  that  ;  yet  Mary  knew  the  sadness  of  life.  She 
had  lost  two  of  her  babies,  and  sorrow  had  softened, 
ripened  her.  The  Mary  of  ten  years  ago  had  not 
had  that  tender  look  in  her  eyes,  those  lines  of  sym- 
IIO 


KATHERINE 

pathetic  sensibility  about  the  lips.  Her  decisively 
friendly  sentence  was  followed  by  a  little  sigh  of 
disapprobation. 

"As  for  Hilda!" 

"As  for  Hilda?" 

"  I  am  disappointed,  Peter.  Yes  ;  we  went  to  her 
studio  this  morning ;  Katherine  took  me  there ; 
Katherine's  pride  in  her  is  pretty.  Yes  ;  I  suppose 
the  pictures  are  very  clever,  if  one  likes  those  rather 
misty  things.  They  look  as  though  they  were  painted 
in  the  back  drawing-room  behind  the  sofa !  "  Peter 
laughed.  "  I  don't  pretend  to  know.  I  suppose  au 
fond  I  am  a  Philistine,  with  a  craving  for  a  story  on 
the  canvas.  I  don't  really  appreciate  Whistler,  so 
of  course  I  have  n't  a  right  to  an  opinion  at  all.  But 
however  clever  they  may  be,  I  don't  think  those 
pictures  should  fill  her  life  to  the  exclusion  of  every- 
thing. The  girl  owes  a  duty  to  herself;  I  don't 
speak  of  her  duty  to  others.  I  have  no  patience 
with  Mrs.  Archinard,  she  is  simply  insufferable ! 
Katherine's  patience  with  her  is  admirable ;  but 
Hilda  is  completely  one-sided,  and  she  is  not  great 
enough  for  that.  But  she  will  fancy  herself  great 

before  long.  Lady told  me  that  she  was  never 

seen  with  her  sister — there  is  that  cut  off,  you  see — 
how  natural  that  they  should  go  out  together !  Of 
course  she  will  grow  morbidly  egotistic,  people  who 
never  meet  other  people  always  do ;  they  fancy 
themselves  grandly  misunderstood.  So  unhealthy, 
too !  She  looked  like  a  ghost." 

"Poor  little  Hilda!  She  probably  fancies  an 
artist's  mission  the  highest.  Perhaps  it  is,  Mary." 

"  Not  in  a  woman's  case  " — Mrs.  Apswith  spoke 
ill 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

with  a  vigorous  decision  that  would  have  stamped 
her  with  ignominy  in  the  eyes  of  the  perhaps  myth- 
ical New  Woman  ;  "  woman's  art  is  never  serious 
enough  for  heroics." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be,  if  they  would  show  a  con- 
sistent heroism  for  it."  Peter  opposed  Mary  for  the 
sake  of  the  argument,  and  for  the  sake  of  an  old 
loyalty.  A  u  fond  he  agreed  with  her. 

"  A  female  Palissy  would  revolutionize  our  ideas 
of  woman's  art." 

"  A  pleasant  creature  she  would  be  !  Tearing  up 
the  flooring  and  breaking  the  chairs  for  firewood ! 
An  abominable  desecration  of  the  housewifely  in- 
stincts! I  don't  know  what  Allan  Hope  will  do 
about  it,"  Mary  pursued. 

"  Ah  !     That  is  an  accepted  fact,  then  ?  " 

"  Dear  me,  yes.  Lady  Mainwaring  is  very  anxious 
for  it.  It  shows  what  Allan's  steady  persistency  has 
accomplished.  The  child  has  n't  a  penny,  you  know." 

"  You  think  she  'd  have  him  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  will  have  him.  And  a  lucky  girl 
she  is  for  the  chance !  But,  before  the  definite  ac- 
ceptance, she  will,  of  course,  lead  him  the  usual 
dance  ;  it 's  quite  the  thing  now  among  girls  of  that 
type.  Individuality ;  their  own  life  to  be  lived, 
their  Art — in  capitals — to  be  lived  for ;  home,  hus- 
band, children,  degrading  impediments.  Such  tire- 
some rubbish  !  I  am  very  sorry  for  poor  Allan." 
Peter  studied  his  boots. 

"  Allan  probably  accounts  for  that  general  absent- 
mindedness  I  observed  in  her ;  perhaps  Allan  ac- 
counts for  more  than  we  give  her  credit  for ;  this 
desperate  devotion  to  her  painting,  her  last  struggle 
112 


KATHERINE 

to  hold  to  her  ideal.     Really  the  theory  that  she  is 
badly  in  love  explains  everything.     Poor  child  !  " 

"  Why  poor,  Peter?  Allan  Hope  is  certainly  the 
very  nicest  man  I  know,  barring  yourself  and  Jack. 
He  has  done  more  than  creditably  in  the  House, 
and  now  that  he  is  already  on  the  Treasury  Bench, 
has  only  to  wait  for  indefinite  promotion.  He  is 
clever,  kind,  honest  as  the  day.  He  will  be  an  earl 
when  the  dear  old  earl  dies,  and  that  that  is  a  pretty 
frame  to  the  picture  no  one  can  deny.  What  more 
can  a  girl  ask  ?  " 

"  This  girl  probably  asks  some  impossible  dream. 
I  'm  sorry  for  people  who  have  n't  done  dreaming." 

"  Between  you  and  me,  Peter,  I  don't  think  Hilda 
is  really  clever  enough  to  do  much  dreaming — of  the 
pathetic  sort.  Her  eyes  are  clever  ;  she  sees  things 
prettily,  and  puts  them  down  prettily ;  but  there  is 
nothing  more.  She  struck  me  as  a  trifle  stupid — 
really  dull,  you  know." 

Odd  shifted  his  position  uncomfortably. 

"That  may  be  shyness,  reserve,  inability  for  self- 
expression."  He  leaned  his  arm  on  the  mantelpiece 
and  studied  the  fire  with  a  puzzled  frown.  "That 
exquisite  face  must  mean  something." 

"  I  don't  know.  By  the  law  of  compensation 
Katherine  has  the  brains,  the  heart,  and  Hilda  the 
beauty.  7  did  n't  find  her  shy.  She  seemed  per- 
fectly mistress  of  herself.  It  may  be  a  case  of 
absorption  in  her  love  affair,  as  you  say.  I  am  not 
sure  that  he  has  asked  her  yet.  He  is  a  most  modest 
lover." 

Mary  saw  a  great  deal  of  Katherine  during  her 
stay,  and  her  first  impression  was  strengthened. 
8  113 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

Katherine  shopped  with  her;  they  considered 
gowns  together.  Katherine's  taste  was  exquisite, 
and  the  bonnets  of  her  choice  the  most  becoming 
Mrs.  Apswith  had  ever  worn.  The  girl  was  not 
above  liking  pretty  things — that  was  already  nice 
in  her — for  the  girl  was  clever  enough  to  pose  in- 
difference. Mary  saw  at  once  that  she  was  clever. 
Katherine  was  very  independent,  but  very  attentive. 
Her  sincerity  was  charmingly  gay,  and  not  priggish. 
She  said  just  what  she  thought ;  but  she  thought 
things  that  were  worth  saying.  She  made  little 
display  of  learning,  but  one  felt  it — like  the  silk 
lining  in  a  plain  serge  gown.  She  did  not  talk  too 
much  ;  she  made  Mrs.  Apswith  feel  like  talking. 
Mary  took  her  twice  to  the  play  with  Peter  and 
herself.  Hilda  was  once  invited  and  came.  Odd 
sat  in  the  back  of  the  box  and  watched  for  the 
effect  on  her  face  of  the  clever  play  interpreted  by 
the  best  talent  of  the  Theatre  Fran9ais.  The  quiet 
absorption  of  her  look  might  imply  much  intelligent 
appreciation ;  but  Katherine's  little  ripples  of  glad 
enjoyment,  clever  little  thrusts  of  criticism,  made 
Hilda's  silence  seem  peculiarly  impassive,  and  while 
between  the  acts  Katherine  analyzed  keenly,  woke 
a  scintillating  sense  of  intellectual  enjoyment  about 
her  in  flashes  of  gay  discussion,  Hilda  sat  listening 
with  that  same  smile  of  admiration  that  almost  irri- 
tated Odd  by  its  seeming  acceptance  of  inability — 
inferiority. 

The  smile,  from  its  very  lack  of  all  self-reference, 
was  rather  touching ;  and  Mary  owned  that  Hilda 
was  "  sweet,"  but  the  adjective  did  not  mitigate  the 
former  severity  of  judgment — that  was  definite. 
114 


KATHERINE 

When  Mary  went,  she  begged  Katherine  to  ac- 
cept the  prettiest  gown  Doucet  could  make  her,  and 
Katherine  accepted  with  graceful  ease  and  frankness. 
The  gown  was  exquisite.  Mary  sent  to  Hilda  a  fine 
Braun  photograph,  which  Hilda  received  with  sur- 
prised delight,  for  she  had  done  nothing  to  make 
Mrs.  Apswith's  stay  in  Paris  pleasant.  She  thought 
such  kindness  touching,  and  Katherine's  gown  the 
loveliest  she  had  ever  seen. 


CHAPTER  V 

MARY  gone,  the  bicycling  t$te-a-tetes  were  re- 
sumed, and  Odd,  too,  began  to  call  more 
frequently  at  the  houses  where  he  met  Katherine. 
They  were  bon  camarades  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
term,  and  Peter  found  it  a  very  pleasant  sense.  He 
realized  that  he  had  been  lonely,  and  loneliness  in 
his  present  cttsceuvrfa  condition  would  have  been  in- 
tolerable. The  melancholy  of  laziness  could  not 
creep  to  him  while  this  girl  laughed  beside  him. 
The  frank,  sympathetic  relation — almost  that  of 
man  to  man — was  untouched  by  the  faintest  infusion 
of  sentiment;  delicious  breeziness  and  freedom  of 
intercourse  was  the  result.  Peter  listened  to  Kath- 
erine, laughed  at  her  sometimes,  and  liked  her  to 
laugh  at  him.  He  told  her  a  good  many  of  his 
thoughts ;  she  criticised  them,  approved  of  them, 
encouraged  him  to  action.  But  Odd  felt  his  present 
contemplativeness  too  wide  to  be  limited  by  any 
affirmation.  He  had  never  felt  so  little  sure  of  any- 
thing nor  so  conscious  of  everything  in  general. 
Writing  in  such  a  mood  seemed  folly,  and  he  con- 
tinued to  drift.  He  still  read  in  an  objectless  way 
at  the  Bibliotheque,  hunting  out  old  references, 
pleasing  himself  by  a  circuit  through  the  points  of 
view  of  all  times.  Katherine  offered  to  help  him, 
and  in  the  morning  he  would  bring  her  his  notes  to 
116 


KATHERINE 

look  over;  her  quick  comprehension  formed  another 
link.  He  was  very  sorry  for  Katherine  too.  She 
had  no  taste  for  drifting.  In  her  eye  he  read  a  dis- 
satisfaction, a  thirst  for  wider  vision,  wider  action,  a 
restless  impatience  with  the  narrowness,  the  ineffec- 
tiveness of  her  lot,  that  made  him  muse  on  her  prob- 
able future  with  a  sense  of  pathos.  Hilda's  wide 
gaze  showed  no  such  rebellion  with  the  actual  ;  her 
art  had  filled  it  with  a  distant  content  that  shut 
strife  and  the  defeat  of  yearnings  from  her:  or  was 
it  merely  the  placid  consciousness  of  Allan  Hope — 
a  future  assured  and  fully  satisfactory?  Under 
Katherine's  gayety  there  was  a  fierce  beating  of  caged 
wings,  and  Odd  fancied  at  times  that,  freed,  the  im- 
prisoned birds  might  be  strong  and  beautiful.  He 
fancied  this  especially  when  she  played  to  him  ;  she 
played  well,  with  surprising  sureness  of  taste,  and, 
as  the  winter  came  and  it  grew  too  cold  for  bicycling, 
Peter  often  spent  the  morning  in  listening  to  her. 
Mrs.  Archinard  did  not  appear  until  the  afternoon 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  in  the  evenings  he  usually 
met  her  dining  out  or  at  some  reception ;  their  inti- 
macy once  noticed,  they  were  invited  together. 

Lady was  especially  anxious  that  Odd  should 

have  every  opportunity  for  meeting  her  favorite. 

But  with  all  this  intimacy,  to  Peter's  consciousness 
thoroughly,  paternally  platonic,  under  all  its  daily 
interests  and  quiet  pleasure  lay  a  half-felt  hurt,  a 
sense  of  injury  and  loss.  The  little  voice,  seldom 
thought  of  during  the  last  ten  years,  now  repeated 
often  :  "  But  you  will  be  different ;  I  will  be  different  ; 
we  will  both  be  changed." 

Captain  Archinard  returned  from  the  Riviera  in 
117 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

a  temper  that  could  mean  but  one  thing ;  he  had 
gambled  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  he  had  lost.  He  did 
not  mention  the  fact  in  the  family  circle ;  indeed, 
by  a  tacit  agreement,  money  matters  were  never 
alluded  to  before  Mrs.  Archinard.  Her  years  of 
successful  invalidism  had  compelled  even  her  hus- 
band's acquiescence  in  the  decision  early  arrived  at 
by  Hilda  and  Katherine :  mamma  must  be  spared 
the  torments  to  which  they  had  grown  accustomed. 
But  to  Katherine  the  Captain  freed  his  querulous 
soul,  never  to  Hilda.  There  was  a  look  in  Hilda's 
eyes  that  made  the  Captain  very  uncomfortable, 
very  angry ;  conscious  of  those  cases  of  wonderful 
champagne,  the  races,  the  clubs,  the  boxes  at  the 
play,  and  all  the  infinite  array  of  his  wardrobe — a 
sad,  wondering  look.  Katherine's  scoldings  were 
far  preferable,  for  Katherine  was  not  so  devilish 
superior  to  human  weaknesses  ;  she  had  plenty  of 
unpaid  bills  on  her  own  conscience,  and  understood 
the  necessities  of  an  aristocratic  taste.  He  and 
Katherine  had  their  little  secrets,  and  were  mutually 
on  the  defensive.  Hilda  never  criticised,  to  be 
sure,  but  her  very  difference  was  a  daily  criticism. 
The  Captain  thought  his  younger  daughter  rather 
dull;  Katherine,  of  finer  calibre  than  her  father, 
admired  such  dulness,  and  found  some  difficulty  in 
stilling  self-reproachful  comparisons  ;  temperament, 
circumstance,  made  a  comforting  philosophy.  And 
then  Hilda's  art  made  things  easy  for  Hilda  ;  with 
such  a  refuge,  would  she,  Katherine,  ask  for  more  ? 
Katherine  rather  wondered  now,  after  her  father's 
exasperated  recountal  of  ill-luck,  where  papa  had 
got  the  money  to  lose ;  but  papa  on  this  point  was 
118 


KATHERINE 

prudently  reticent,  and  borrowed  two  one-hundred- 
franc  notes  from  Peter  while  the  latter  waited  in 
the  drawing-room  for  Katherine  one  morning. 

Katherine  and  her  father  were  making  a  round 
of  calls  one  day,  and  the  Captain  stopped  at  his 
bank  to  cash  a  check.  Katherine  stood  beside 
him,  and,  although  he  manoeuvred  concealment  with 
hand  and  shoulder,  her  keen  eyes  read  the  name. 

Her  mouth  was  stern  as  they  walked  away — the 
Captain  had  folded  the  notes  and  put  them  in  his 
pocket. 

"  A  good  deal  of  money  that,  papa." 

"  I  suppose  I  owe  twice  as  much  to  my  tailor," 
Captain  Archinard  replied,  with  irritation. 

"  Has  Mr.  Odd  lent  you  money  before  this?  " 

"  I  really  don't  know  that  Mr.  Odd's  affairs — or 
mine — are  any  business  of  yours,  Katherine." 

"  Yours  certainly  are,  papa.  When  a  father  puts 
his  daughter  in  a  false  position,  his  affairs  decidedly 
become  her  business." 

"  What  rubbish,  Katherine.  Better  men  than 
Odd  have  been  glad  to  give  me  a  lift.  I  can't  see 
that  Odd  has  been  ill-used.  He  is  rolling  in 
money." 

"  I  don't  quite  believe  that,  papa.  Allersley  is 
not  such  a  rich  property.  But  it  is  not  of  Mr. 
Odd's  ill-usage  I  complain,  it  is  of  mine  ;  for  if  this 
borrowing  goes  on,  I  hardly  think  I  can  continue 
my  relations  with  Mr.  Odd.  It  would  rather  look 
like — decoying." 

The  Captain  stopped  and  fixed  a  look  of  futile 
dignity  on  his  daughter. 

"  That 's  a  strange  word  for  you  to  use,  Katherine. 
119 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

I  would  horsewhip  the  man  who  would  suggest  it. 
Odd  is  a  gentleman." 

"  Decidedly.  I  did  not  speak  of  his  point  of  view 
but  of  mine.  All  frankness  of  intercourse  between 
us  is  impossible  if  you  are  going  to  sponge  on  him." 

"  Katherine  !  I  can't  allow  such  impertinence  ! 
Outrageous  !  It  really  is  !  Sponge  !  Can't  a  man 
borrow  a  few  paltry  hundreds  from  another  without 
exposing  himself  to  such  insulting  language  ? — es- 
pecially as  Odd  is  to  become  my  son-in-law,  I  sup- 
pose. He  is  always  hanging  about  you." 

"  That  is  what  I  meant,  papa."  Katherine's  tone 
was  icy.  "  Your  suppositions  were  apparent  to  me, 
you  drain  Mr.  Odd  on  the  strength  of  them.  Bor- 
row from  any  one  else  you  like  as  much  as  you  can 
get,  but,  if  you  have  any  self-respect,  you  won't  bor- 
row from  Mr.  Odd  in  the  hope  that  I  will  marry  him." 

"  Devilish  impertinent !  Upon  my  word,  devilish 
impertinent !  "  the  Captain  muttered.  He  drew  out 
his  cigar-case  with  a  hand  that  trembled.  Kath- 
erine's bitter  look  was  very  unpleasant. 

Katherine  expected  Odd  the  next  morning  ;  he 
was  reading  a  manuscript  to  her,  and  would  come 
early. 

She  was  waiting  for  him  at  ten.  She  had  put  on 
her  oldest  dress.  The  severe  black  lines,  a  silk  sash, 
knotted  at  the  side,  suggested  a  soutane — the  slim 
buckled  shoes  with  their  square  tips  carried  out  the 
monastic  effect,  and  Katherine's  strong  young  face 
was  cold  and  stern. 

"  Shall  we  put  off  our  work  for  a  little  while?     I 
want  to  speak  to  you,"  she  said,  after  Odd  had  come, 
and  greetings  had  passed  between  them. 
1 20 


KATHERINE 

"  Shall  we  ?  You  have  been  too  patient  all  along, 
Miss  Archinard."  Odd  smiled  down  at  her  as  he 
held  her  hand.  "  You  make  me  feel  that  I  have 
been  driving  you — arrantly  egotistic." 

"  No ;  I  like  our  work  immensely,  as  you  know." 
Katherine  remained  standing  by  the  fireplace.  She 
leaned  her  arm  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  turned  her 
head  to  look  directly  at  him.  "  I  am  not  at  all  happy 
this  morning,  Mr.  Odd."  Odd's  kind  eyes  showed 
an  almost  boyish  dismay. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Can  I  help  you  ?  "  His  tone  was 
all  sympathetic  anxiety  and  friendly  warmth. 

"  No  ;  just  the  contrary.  Mr.  Odd,  I  am  ashamed 
that  you  should  have  seen  the  depths  of  our  poverty. 
It  is  not  a  poverty  one  can  be  proud  of.  Poverty 
to  be  honorable  must  work,  and  must  not  borrow." 

Odd  flushed. 

"  You  exaggerate,"  he  said,  but  he  liked  her  for 
the  exaggeration. 

"  I  did  not  know  till  yesterday  that  papa  owed  to 
you  his  Riviera  trip." 

"  Really,  Katherine" — he  had  not  used  her  name 
before,  it  came  now  most  naturally  with  this  new 
sense  of  intimacy — "  you  must  n't  misunderstand, 
misjudge  your  father.  He  could  n't  work  ;  his  life 
has  unfitted  him  for  it ;  it  would  be  a  false  pride 
that  would  make  him  hesitate  to  ask  an  old  friend 
for  a  loan ;  an  old  friend  so  well  able  to  lend  as  I 
am.  You  women  judge  these  things  far  too  loftily." 
And  Peter  liked  her  for  the  loftiness. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  how  much  you  lent 
him  last  time  ?  I  was  with  him  when  he  cashed  the 
check.  I  saw  the  name,  not  the  amount." 

121 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  It  was  nothing  of  any  importance,"  said  Odd 
shortly.  He  exaggerated  now.  The  Captain  had 
told  him  that  the  furniture  would  be  seized  unless 
some  creditors  were  satisfied,  and,  with  a  very 
decided  hint  as  to  the  inadvisability  of  another  trip 
for  retrievement  to  the  Riviera,  Peter  had  given  him 
the  money,  ten  thousand  francs  ;  a  sum  certainly  of 
importance,  for  Odd  was  no  millionaire. 

Katherine  looked  hard  at  him. 

"  You  won't  tell  me  because  you  want  to  spare 
me." 

"  My  dear  Katherine,  I  certainly  want  to  spare 
you  anything  that  would  add  a  straw's  weight  to 
your  distress ;  you  have  no  need,  no  right  to  shoul- 
der this.  It  is  your  father's  affair — and  mine.  You 
must  not  give  it  another  thought." 

"  That  is  so  easy  !  "  Katherine  clenched  her  hand 
on  the  mantelpiece.  She  was  not  given  to  vehe- 
mence of  demonstration  ;  the  little  gesture  showed  a 
concentration  of  bitter  rebellion.  Odd,  standing 
beside  her,  put  his  own  hand  over  hers ;  patted  it 
soothingly. 

"  It 's  rather  hard  on  me,  you  know,  a  slur  on  my 
friendship,  that  you  should  take  a  merely  conven- 
tional obligation  so  to  heart." 

Katherine  now  looked  down  into  the  fire. 

"  Take  it  to  heart  ?  What  else  have  I  had  on 
my  heart  for  years  and  years  ?  It  is  a  mere  varia- 
tion on  the  same  theme,  a  little  more  poignantly 
painful  than  usual,  that  is  all !  What  a  life  to  lead. 
What  a  future  to  look  forward  to.  I  wonder  what 
else  I  shall  have  to  endure."  Odd  had  never  seen 
her  before  in  this  mood  of  fierce  hopelessness. 

122 


KATHERINE 

"  Our  poverty  has  poisoned  everything,  everything. 
I  have  had  no  youth,  no  happiness.  Every  moment 
of  forgetfulness  means  redoubled  keenness  of  gnaw- 
ing anxiety.  Debts!  Duns!  harassing,  sordid  cares 
that  drag  one  down.  Mr.  Odd,  I  have  had  to  coax 
butchers  and  bakers  ;  I  have  had  to  plead  with  hor- 
rible men  with  documents  of  all  varieties !  I  have 
had  to  pawn  my  trinkets,  and  all  with  surface 
gayety ;  everything  must  be  kept  from  mamma, 
and  papa's  extravagance  is  incorrigible." 

Odd  was  all  grave  amazement,  grave  pity,  and 
admiration. 

"  You  are  a  brave  woman,  Katherine." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  am  not  brave.  I  am  frightened — 
frightened  to  death  sometimes.  I  see  before  me 
either  a  hideous  struggle  with  want  or — a  mariage 
de  convenance.  I  have  none  of  the  classified,  pigeon- 
holed knowledge  one  needs  nowadays  to  become  a 
teaching  drudge,  and  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  to 
sell  myself,  though,  in  spite  of  my  lack  of  beauty  and 
lack  of  money,  that  means  of  escape  has  often  pre- 
sented itself.  I  have  had  many  offers  of  marriage. 
Only  I  can't" 

Odd  was  silent  under  the  stress  of  a  new  thought, 
an  entirely  new  thought. 

"  For  Hilda  I  have  no  fear,"  Katherine  continued, 
still  speaking  with  the  same  steady  quiet  voice,  still 
looking  into  the  fire.  "  In  the  past  her  art  has  ab- 
sorbed and  protected  her,  and  her  future  is  assured. 
She  will  marry  a  good  husband."  A  flash  as  of 
Hilda's  beauty  crossed  the  growing  definiteness 
of  Peter's  new  thought.  That  old  undoing,  that 
mirage  of  beauty ;  he  put  it  aside  with  some  self- 
123 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

disgust,  feeling,  as  he  did  so,  a  queer  sense  of  imper- 
sonality as  though  putting  away  himself  as  he  put 
away  his  weakness.  He  seemed  to  contemplate 
himself  from  an  outside  aloofness  of  observation. 
The  trance-like  feeling  of  the  illusion  of  all  things 
which  he  had  felt  more  than  once  of  late  made  him 
hold  more  firmly  to  the  tonic  thought  of  a  fine  com- 
mon-sense. 

"  Of  course,  mamma  will  be  safe  when  Hilda  is 
Lady  Hope,"  Katherine  said  ;  "  perhaps  I  shall  be 
forced  to  accept  the  same  charity."  Her  voice  broke 
a  little,  and  she  turned  the  sombre  revolt  of  her  look 
on  Peter  ;  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Katherine,"  he  said,  "will  you  marry  me?" 
Odd,  five  minutes  before,  had  not  had  the  remot- 
est idea  that  he  would  ask  Katherine  Archinard  to 
be  his  wife.  Yet  one  could  hardly  call  the  sudden 
decision  that  had  brought  the  words  to  his  lips,  im- 
pulsive. While  Katherine  spoke,  the  bitter  struggle 
of  the  fine  young  life,  surely  meant  for  highest 
things ;  the  courage  of  the  cheerfulness  she  never 
before  had  failed  in  ;  the  pride  of  that  repulsion  for 
the  often  offered  solution  to  her  difficulties — a  solu- 
tion many  women  would  have  accepted  with  a  sense 
of  the  inevitable — became  admirably  apparent  to 
Odd.  Their  mutual  sympathy  and  good-fellowship 
and,  almost  unconsciously,  Hilda's  assured  future — 
Allan  Hope— had  defined  the  thought.  He  felt 
none  of  that  passion  which,  now  that  he  looked  back 
on  it,  made  of  the  miserable  year  of  married  life  that 
followed  but  the  logical  retribution  of  its  reckless 
and  wilful  blindness.  The  very  lack  of  passion  now 
seemed  an  added  surety  of  better  things.  His  life 
124 


KATHERINE 

with  Katharine  could  count  on  all  that  his  life  with 
Alicia  had  failed  in.  He  did  not  reason  on  that  un- 
excited  sense  of  impersonality  and  detachment.  He 
would  like  her  to  accept  him.  He  would  like  to  help 
this  fine,  proud  young  creature ;  he  would  like  sym- 
pathetic companionship.  He  was  sure  of  that.  He 
had  not  surprised  Katherine  ;  she  had  seen,  as  clearly 
as  he  now  saw,  what  Peter  Odd  would  do.  She  had 
not  exactly  intended  to  bring  him  to  a  realization  of 
this  by  the  morning's  confession,  for  on  the  whole 
Katherine  had  been  perfectly  sincere  in  all  that  she 
had  said,  but  she  felt  that  she  could  rely  on  no  better 
opportunity.  Now  she  only  turned  her  head  towards 
him,  without  moving  from  her  position  before  the 
fireplace.  Katherine  never  took  the  trouble  to  act. 
She  merely  aimed  at  the  most  advantageous  line  of 
conduct  and  let  taste  and  instinct  lead  her.  Her 
taste  now  told  her  that  quiet  sincerity  was  very  suit- 
able ;  she  felt,  too,  a  most  sincere  little  dash  of 
proud  hesitation. 

"  Are  you  generously  offering  me  another  form  of 
charity,  Mr.  Odd?  My  distress  was  not  conscious 
of  an  appeal." 

"  You  know  your  own  value  too  well,  Katherine, 
to  ask  me  that,  /appeal." 

"Yet  the  apropos  of  your  offer  makes  me  smart. 
Another  joy  of  poverty.  One  can't  trust." 

"  It  was  apropos  because  a  man  who  loves  you 
would  not  see  you  suffer  needlessly."  Peter,  too, 
was  sincere;  he  did  not  say  "  loved." 

"  Shall  I  let  you  suffer  needlessly  ?"  asked  Kathe- 
rine,  smiling  a  little.  "  I  sha'n't,  if  that  implies  that 
you  love  me." 

125 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Suppose  I  do.  And  suppose  I  stand  on  my  dig- 
nity. Pretend  to  distrust  your  motives.  Refuse  to 
be  married  out  of  pity?" 

"  That  sort  of  false  dignity  would  n't  suit  you ; 
you  have  too  much  of  the  real." 

"  Would  you  be  good  to  me,  Mr.  Odd  ?  " 

"Very,  very  good,  Katherine." 

Odd  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  Katherine's 
smile  shone  out  in  all  its  frank  gayety.  "  I  think 
I  can  make  you  happy,  dear." 

"  I  think  you  can,  Mr.  Odd." 

"  You  must  manage  '  Peter '  now." 

"  I  think  you  can,  Peter,"  Katherine  said  obedi- 
ently. 

"  And  Katherine — I  would  not  have  dared  say 
this  before,  you  would  have  flung  it  back  at  me  as 
bribery — but  I  can  give  you  weapons." 

"Yes,  I  shall  be  able  to  fight  now."  She  looked 
up  at  him  with  her  charming  smile.  "  And  you  will 
help  me,  you  must  fight  too.  You  must  be  great, 
Peter,  great,  great !  " 

"  With  such  a  fiery  little  engine  throbbing  beside 
my  laggard  bulk,  I  shall  probably  be  towed  into  all 
sorts  of  combats  and  come  off  victorious." 

They  sat  down  side  by  side  on  the  sofa.  Kathe- 
rine was  a  delightfully  comfortable  person ;  no 
change,  but  a  pleasant  development  of  relation 
seemed  to  have  occurred. 

"You  won't  expect  any  flaming  protestations, 
will  you,  Katherine,"  said  Peter ;  "  I  was  never  good 
at  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Did  you  never  flame,  then  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  I  flamed  out  in  about  two  months — a 
126 


KATHERINE 

long  time  ago  ;  that  is  about  the  natural  life  of  the 
feeling." 

"  And  you  bring  me  ashes,"  said  Katherine,  rally- 
ing him  with  her  smile. 

"  You  must  n't  tease  me,  Katherine,"  said  Peter. 
He  found  her  very  dear,  and  kissed  her  hand  again. 
127 


Part  II 
HILDA. 


CHAPTER  I 

"  TT  TELL,  Hilda,  we  have  some  news  for  you  !  " 
V  V  With  these  words,  spoken  in  the  triumphant 
tone  of  the  news-breaker,  the  Captain  greeted  his 
daughter  as  she  came  into  the  drawing-room  at  half- 
past  six.  Odd  had  been  paying  his  respects  to  his 
future  parents-in-law,  and  was  sitting  near  Mrs. 
Archinard's  sofa.  He  rose  to  his  feet  as  Hilda  en- 
tered and  looked  at  her,  smiling  a  trifle  nervously. 

"  Guess  what  has  happened,  my  dear,"  said  the 
Captain,  whose  good  humor  was  apparent,  while 
Mrs.  Archinard  murmured,  "She  would  never  guess. 
Hilda,  only  look  at  your  hat  in  the  mirror."  It  was 
windy,  and  Hilda's  shabby  little  hat  was  on  the  back 
of  her  head. 

"What  must  I  guess?  Is  it  about  you?"  she 
asked,  turning  her  sweet  bewildered  eyes  from  Odd 
to  her  father,  to  her  mother,  and  back  to  Odd  again. 

"  Yes,  about  me  and  another  person." 

"You  are  going  to  marry  Katherine  !  "  Her  eyes 
dilated  and  their  sweetness  deepened  to  a  smile  ; 
"  you  are  going  to  marry  Katherine,  that  must  be  it." 

"  That  is  it,  Hilda.  Congratulate  me."  He  took 
her  hands  in  his  and  kissed  her.  "  Welcome  me, 
and  tell  me  you  are  glad." 

"  Oh !  I  am  very  glad.  I  welcome  you.  I  con- 
gratulate you ! " 

131 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  You  will  like  your  brother  ?  " 

"  A  brother  is  dearer  than  a  friend,  and  you  have 
always  been  a  friend,  have  n't  you,  Mr.  Odd  ?  " 

"  Always,  always,  Hilda ;  I  did  n't  know  that  you 
realized  it." 

"  Did  you  realize  it  ?  " 

"  Did  I,  my  dear  Hilda !  I  did,  I  do,  I  always 
will."  Hilda's  face  seemed  subtly  irradiated.  Her 
listless  look  of  pallor  had  brightened  wonderfully. 
No  one  could  have  said  that  the  lovely  face  was  dull 
with  this  sudden  change  upon  it.  Peter  felt  that 
he  himself  was  grave  in  comparison. 

"  And  I  am  going  to  claim  all  a  brother's  rights 
immediately,  Hilda." 

"  What  are  a  brother's  rights  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  look  after  you,  to  scold  you,  to 
see  you  don't  overwork  yourself." 

"  I  give  you  leave,  but  you  must  n't  presume  too 
much  on  the  new  rights." 

"  Ah  !  but  I  have  old  ones  as  well." 

"  You  must  n't  be  tyrannical !  "  she  still  laughed 
gently  as  she  withdrew  her  hands  ;  "  I  must  go  and 
see  Katherine." 

"  Yes,  go  and  dress  now,  Hilda."  Mrs.  Archinard 
spoke  from  the  sofa,  having  watched  the  scene  with 
a  slight  air  of  injury  ;  Hilda's  unwonted  gayety  con- 
stituted a  certain  grievance.  "  Mr.  Odd  dines  with 
us,  and  I  really  can't  bear  to  see  you  in  that  cos- 
tume. The  skirt  especially  is  really  ludicrous,  my 
dear.  I  am  glad  that  I  don't  see  you  walking 
through  the  streets  in  it." 

"  Hilda  knows  that  her  feet  bear  showing,"  re- 
marked the  Captain,  crossing  his  own  with  com- 
132 


HILDA 

placency ;  "  she  has  her  mother's  foot  in  size  and 
mine  in  make — the  Archinard  foot ;  narrow,  arched 
instep,  and  small  heel. 

"  Really,  Charles,  I  think  the  Maxwells  will  bear 
the  comparison ! "  Mrs.  Archinard,  though  she 
smiled,  looked  distinctly  distressed. 

Hilda  found  her  sister  before  the  long  mirror 
in  her  room,  Taylor  fastening  the  nasturtium  velvet. 
Katherine  always  had  a  commanding  air,  and  it  was 
quite  regally  apparent  to-night ;  all  things  seemed 
made  to  serve  her,  and  Taylor's  crouching  attitude 
symbolic. 

Hilda  put  her  arms  around  her  neck. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Kathy,  I  am  so  glad  !  To  think 
that  good  things  do  come  true  ! " 

"  You  like  my  choice,  pet  ?  " 

"No  one  else  would  have  done,"  cried  Hilda; 
"  he  is  the  only  man  I  ever  saw  whom  I  could  have 
thought  of  for  you.  Why,  Katherine,  from  that 
first  day  when  you  told  me  you  had  met  him  at  the 
dinner,  I  knew  it  would  happen." 

"  Yes,  I  certainly  felt  a  prophetic  sense  of  pro- 
prietorship from  the  first,"  Katherine  owned  mus- 
ingly. She  looked  over  her  sister's  shoulder  at  the 
fine  outline  of  her  own  head  and  neck  in  the  glass. 

"  Are  n't  you  rather  splashed  and  muddy,  pet  ?  " 
Poor  people  can't  afford  an  affection  that  puts  their 
velvet  gowns  in  danger.  There,  I  must  n't  rumple 
my  lace." 

"I  haven't  hurt,  have  I?"  Hilda  stood  back 
hastily.  "I  forgot,  I  am  rather  muddy.  And, 
Katherine,  you  will  help  one  another  so  much ; 
that  makes  it  so  ideal." 

133 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Idealistic  little  Hilda !  " 

"  But  that  is  evident,  is  n't  it  ?  You  with  all 
your  energy  and  cleverness  and  general  sanity, 
and  he  so  widely  sympathetic  that  he  is  a  bit 
impersonal.  I  mean  that  he  doubts  himself  because 
he  doubts  everything  rather ;  he  sees  how  relative 
everything  is ;  he  probably  thinks  too  much ;  I  am 
sure  that  is  dangerous.  You  will  make  him  act." 

"  I  am  to  be  the  concrete  to  his  abstract.  He 
certainly  does  lack  energy.  I  wonder  if  even  I 
shall  be  able  to  prod  him  into  initiative." 

Katherine  patted  down  the  fine  old  lace  that 
edged  her  bodice,  and  looked  a  smiling  question 
from  her  own  reflection  in  the  mirror  to  her  sister. 
"  Suppose  I  fail  to  arouse  him." 

"  You  will  understand  him.  He  will  have  some- 
thing to  live  for ;  that  is  what  he  needs.  He  won't 
be  able  to  say,  'Is  it  worth  while?'  about  your  hap- 
piness. As  for  initiative,  you  will  probably  have 
to  have  that  for  both.  After  all,  he  has  made  his 
name  and  place.  He  has  the  nicest  kind  of  fame ; 
the  more  apparent  sort  made  up  by  the  admiration 
of  mediocrities  is  n't  half  as  nice." 

"  Ah,  pet,  you  are  an  intellectual  aristocrat.  My 
pate  is  coarser.  I  like  the  real  thing ;  the  donkey's 
brayings  make  a  noise,  and  one  must  take  the 
whole  world  with  all  its  donkeys  conscious  of  one, 
to  be  famous.  I  like  noise."  Katherine  smiled  as 
she  spoke,  and  Hilda  smiled,  too,  a  little  smile  of 
humorous  comprehension,  for  she  did  not  take 
Katherine  in  this  mood  at  all  seriously.  She  was  as 
stanch  in  her  belief  of  Katherine's  ideals  as  she 
was  in  sticking  to  her  own. 

134 


HILDA 

"  We  will  be  married  in  March,"  said  Katherine, 
pausing  before  her  dressing-table  to  put  on  her 
rings — a  fine  antique  engraved  gem  and  a  splendid 
opal.  "  You  may  go,  Taylor ;  and  Taylor,  you 
may  put  out  my  opera-cloak  after  dinner.  I  think, 
Hilda,  I  will  go  to  the  opera  ;  papa  has  a  box.  He 
and  I  and  Peter  might  care  about  dropping  in  for 
the  last  two  acts.  You  don't  care  to  come,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  mamma  expects  me  to  read  to  her ;  it 's 
a  charming  book,  too,"  added  Hilda,  with  tactful 
delicacy. 

"  Well,  I  shall  envy  you  your  quiet  evening.  I 
can't  ask  Peter  to  spend  his  here  in  the  bosom  of 
my  family.  Yes,  March,  I  think,  unless  I  decide  on 
making  that  round  of  visits  in  England  ;  that  would 
put  it  off  for  a  month.  I  hope  the  ravens  will  fetch 
me  a  trousseau— for  I  don't  know  who  else  will." 

"  I  shall  have  quite  a  lot  by  that  time,  Katherine. 
I  have  n't  heard  from  the  dealer  in  London  yet,  but 
those  two  pictures  will  sell,  I  hope.  And,  at  all 
events,  with  the  other  things,  you  know,  I  shall  have 
about  a  hundred  pounds." 

Katherine  flushed  a  little  when  Hilda  spoke  of 
"  other  things,"  and  looked  round  at  her  sister. 

"  I  hate  to  think  of  taking  the  money,  Hilda." 

"  My  dear,  why  should  you  ?  Except,  of  course 
— the  debts,"  Hilda  sighed  deeply :  "  but  I  think 
on  this  occasion  you  have  a  right  to  forget  them." 
Katherine's  flush  perhaps  showed  a  consciousness 
of  having  forgotten  the  debts  on  many  occasions 
less  pressing. 

"  I  meant,  in  particular,  taking  the  money  from 
you." 

135 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

Hilda  opened  her  wide  eyes  to  their  widest. 

"  Kathy  !  as  if  it  were  not  my  pleasure  !  my  joy ! 
I  am  lucky  to  be  able  to  get  it  for  you.  Can  you 
get  a  trousseau  for  that  much,  Kathy  ?  " 

"  Well,  linen,  yes.  I  don't  care  how  little  I  get, 
but  it  must  be  good — good  lace.  I  shall  manage ; 
I  don't  care  about  gowns,  I  can  get  them  afterwards. 
Peter,  I  know,  will  be  an  indulgent  husband."  A 
pleasant  little  smile  flickered  across  Katherine's 
lips.  "  He  is  a  dear !  I  only  hope,  pet,  that  you 
will  be  able  to  hold  on  to  the  money.  Don't  let 
the  duns  worry  it  out  of  you  !  "  The  weary,  pallid 
look  came  to  Hilda's  face. 

"  I  '11  try,  Kathy  dear.     I  '11  do  my  very  best." 

"  My  precious  Hilda !  You  need  not  tell  me 
that!  Run  quickly  and  dress,  dear,  it  must  be 
almost  dinner-time.  What  have  you  to  wear? 
Shall  I  lend  you  anything?" 

"  Why,  you  forgot  my  gray  silk !  My  fichu  !  In- 
sulting Kathy ! " 

"  So  I  did  !  And  you  look  deliciously  pretty  in 
that  dress,  though  she  did  make  a  fiasco  of  the 
back ;  let  the  fichu  come  well  down  over  it.  You 
really  should  n't  indulge  your  passion  for  petites 
couturtires,  child.  It  does  n't  pay." 
136 


CHAPTER    II 

ODD  climbed  the  long  flight  of  stairs  that  led  to 
Hilda's  studio.  The  concierge  below  at  the 
entrance  to  the  court  had  looked  at  him  with  the 
sourness  common  to  her  class,  as  she  stood  spa- 
ciously in  her  door.  The  gentleman  had,  evidently, 
definite  intentions,  for  he  had  asked  her  no  ques- 
tions, and  Madame  Prinet  felt  his  independence  as 
a  slur  upon  her  Cerberus  qualifications. 

Odd  was  putting  into  practice  his  brotherly  prin- 
ciples. He  had  spent  the  morning  with  Katherine 
— the  fifth  morning  since  their  engagement — and 
time  hanging  unemployed  and  heavy  on  his  hands 
this  afternoon,  a  visit  to  Hilda  seemed  altogether 
desirable.  It  really  behoved  him  to  solve  Hilda's 
dubious  position  and,  if  possible,  help  her  to  a  more 
normal  outlook  ;  he  felt  the  task  far  more  feasible 
since  that  glimpse  of  gayety  and  confidence.  In- 
deed he  was  quite  unconscious  of  Madame  Prinet's 
suspicious  observation  as  he  crossed  the  court,  and 
the  absorption  in  his  pleasant  duty  held  his  mind 
while  he  wound  up  the  interminable  staircase. 

His  knock  at  Hilda's  door — there  was  no  mis- 
taking it,  for  a  card  bearing  her  name  was  neatly 
nailed  thereon — was  promptly  answered,  and  Odd 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  middle-aged  maiden 
137 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

of  the  artistic  type  with  which  Paris  swarms  ;  thin, 
gray-haired,  energetic  eyes  behind  eyeglasses,  and  a 
huge  palette  on  her  arm,  so  huge  that  it  gave  Odd 
the  impression  of  a  misshapen  table  and  blocked 
the  distance  out  with  its  brave  array  of  color. 
Over  the  lady's  shoulder,  Odd  caught  sight  of  a 
canvas  of  heroic  proportions. 

"  Oh  !  I  thought  it  was  the  concierge,"  said  the 
artist,  evidently  disappointed  ;  "  have  you  come  to 
the  right  door  ?  I  don't  think  I  know  you." 

"  No  ;  I  don't  know  you,"  Odd  replied,  smiling 
and  casting  a  futile  glance  around  the  studio,  now 
fully  revealed  by  the  shifting  of  the  palette  to  a 
horizontal  position. 

"  I  expected  to  find  Miss  Archinard.  Are  you 
working  with  her  ?  Will  she  be  back  presently  ?  " 

The  gray-haired  lady  smiled  an  answering  and 
explanatory  smile. 

"  Miss  Archinard  rents  me  her  studio  in  the  after- 
noon. She  only  uses  it  in  the  morning ;  she  is  never 
here  in  the  afternoon." 

Odd  felt  a  huge  astonishment. 

"  Never  here  ?  " 

"  No ;  can  I  give  her  any  message  ?  I  shall  prob- 
ably see  her  to-morrow  if  I  come  early  enough." 

"  Oh  no,  thanks.  Thanks  very  much."  He  real- 
ized that  to  reveal  his  dismay  would  stamp  Hilda 
with  an  unpleasantly  mysterious  character. 

"  I  shall  see  her  this  evening — at  her  mother's. 
I  am  sorry  to  have  interrupted  you." 

"  Oh  !  Don't  mention  it  !  "  The  gray-haired  lady 
still  smiled  kindly  ;  Peter  touched  his  hat  and  de- 
scended the  stairs.  Perhaps  she  worked  in  a  large 
138 


HILDA 

atelier  in  the  afternoon  ;  strange  that  she  had  never 
mentioned  it. 

Madame  Prinet,  who  had  followed  the  visitor  to 
the  foot  of  the  staircase  and  had  located  his  errand, 
now  stood  in  her  door  and  surveyed  his  retreat  with 
a  fine  air  of  impartiality  ;  people  who  consulted  her 
need  not  mount  staircases  for  nothing. 

"  Monsieur  did  not  find  Mademoiselle." 

Odd  paused  ;  he  certainly  would  ask  no  questions 
of  the  coencirge,  but  she  might,  of  her  own  accord, 
throw  some  light  on  Hilda's  devious  ways. 

"  No ;  I  had  hoped  to  find  her.  Mademoiselle 
was  in  when  I  last  called  with  her  sister.  I  did  not 
know  that  she  went  out  every  afternoon." 

Odd  thought  this  tactful,  implying,  as  it  did,  that 
Miss  Archinard's  friends  were  not  in  ignorance  of 
her  habits. 

"  Every  afternoon,  monsieur ;  die  et  son  chien" 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  "  Odd  wished  her  good  day  and 
walked  off.  He  had  stumbled  upon  a  mystery  only 
Hilda  herself  might  divulge  :  it  might  be  very  simple, 
and  yet  a  sense  of  anxiety  weighed  upon  him. 

At  five  he  went  to  call  on  a  pleasant  and  pretty 
woman,  an  American,  who  lived  in  the  Boulevard 
Haussmann.  He  was  to  dine  with  the  Archinards, 
and  Katherine  had  said  she  might  meet  him  at  Mrs. 
Pope's  ;  if  she  were  not  there  by  five  he  need  not 
wait  for  her.  She  was  not  there,  and  Mr.  Pope  took 
possession  of  him  on  his  entrance  and  led  him  into 
the  library  to  show  him  some  new  acquisitions  in 
bindings.  Mrs.  Pope  was  not  a  grass  widow,  and  her 
husband,  a  desultory  dilettante,  was  always  in  evi- 
dence in  her  graceful,  crowded  salon.  He  was  a  very 
139 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

tall,  thin  man,  with  white  hair  and  a  mild,  almost 
timid  manner,  dashed  with  the  collector's  eagerness. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Odd,  I  have  a  treasure  here ;  really  a 
perfect  treasure.  A  genuine  Grolier  ;  I  captured  it 
at  the  La  Hire  sale.  Just  look  here,  please  ;  come 
to  the  light.  Is  n't  that  a  beauty  ?  " 

Mrs.  Pope,  after  a  time,  came  and  captured  Peter ; 
she  did  not  approve  of  the  hiding  of  her  lion  in  the 
library.  She  took  him  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
a  great  many  people  were  drinking  tea  and  talking, 
and  he  was  passed  dexterously  from  group  to  group  ; 
Mrs.  Pope,  gay  and  stout,  shuffling  the  pack  and 
generously  giving  every  one  a  glimpse  of  her  trump. 
It  was  a  fatiguing  process,  and  he  was  glad  to  find 
himself  at  last  in  Mrs.  Pope's  undivided  possession. 
He  was  sitting  on  a  sofa  beside  her,  talking  and 
drinking  a  well-concocted  cup  of  tea,  when  a  picture 
on  the  opposite  wall  attracted  his  attention.  He 
put  down  the  cup  of  tea  and  put  up  his  eyeglasses 
to  look  at  it.  A  woman  in  a  dress  of  Japanese  blue, 
holding  a  paper  fan  ;  pink  azaleas  in  the  foreground. 
The  decorative  outline  and  the  peculiar  tonality 
made  it  unmistakable.  He  got  up  to  look  more 
closely.  Yes,  there  was  the  delicate  flowing  sig- 
nature :  "  Hilda  Archinard." 

He  turned  to  Mrs.  Pope  in  pleased  surprise. 

"  I  did  n't  know  that  Hilda  had  reached  this  degree 
of  popularity.  You  are  very  lucky.  Did  she  give 
it  to  you  ?  " 

Katherine's  engagement  was  generally  known, 
and  Mrs.  Pope  reproached  herself  for  having  failed 
to  draw  Mr.  Odd's  attention  before  this  to  the  work 
of  his  future  sister. 

140 


HILDA 

"  Oh  no ;  she  is  altogether  too  distinguished  a 
little  person  to  give  away  her  pictures.  That  was 
in  the  Champs  de  Mars  last  year.  I  bought  it.  The 
two  others  sold  as  well.  I  believe  she  sells  most  of 
her  things ;  for  high  prices,  too.  Always  the  way, 
you  know ;  a  starving  genius  is  allowed  to  starve, 
but  material  success  comes  to  a  pretty  girl  who 
does  n't  need  it.  Katherine  is  so  well  known  in 
Paris  that  Hilda's  public  was  already  made  for  her; 
there  was  no  waiting  for  the  appreciation  that  is  her 
due.  Her  work  is  certainly  charming." 

Peter  felt  a  growing  sense  of  anxiety.  He  could 
not  share  Mrs.  Pope's  feeling  of  easy  pleasantness. 
Hilda  did  need  it.  Certainly  there  was  nothing 
pathetic  in  doing  what  she  liked  best  and  making 
money  at  it.  Yet  he  wondered  just  how  far  Hilda's 
earnings  helped  the  family ;  kept  the  butcher  and 
baker  at  bay.  With  a  new  keenness  of  conjecture 
he  thought  of  the  black  serge  dress ;  somewhere 
about  Hilda's  artistic  indifference  there  might  well 
lurk  a  tragic  element.  Did  she  not  really  care  to 
wear  the  amethyst  velvets  that  her  earnings  per- 
haps went  to  provide?  The  vague  distress  that 
had  never  left  him  since  his  first  disappoint- 
ment at  the  Embassy  dinner,  that  the  afternoon's 
discovery  at  the  atelier  had  sharpened,  now  became 
acute. 

"  I  always  think  it  such  a  pretty  compensation  of 
Providence,"  said  Mrs.  Pope,  gracefully  anxious  to 
please,  "  that  all  the  talent  that  Hilda  Archinard 
expresses,  puts  on  her  canvas,  is  more  personal  in 
Katherine ;  is  part  of  herself  as  it  were,  like  a  per- 
fume about  her." 

141 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Yes,"  said  Odd  rather  dully,  not  particularly 
pleased  with  the  comparison. 

"  She  is  such  a  brilliant  girl,"  Mrs.  Pope  added, 
"  such  a  splendid  character.  I  can't  tell  you  how  it 
delighted  me  to  hear  that  Katherine  had  at  last 
found  the  rare  some  one  who  could  really  appreciate 
her.  It  strengthened  my  pet  theory  of  the  funda- 
mental fitness  of  things." 

"Yes,"  Odd  repeated,  so  vaguely  that  Mrs.  Pope 
hurriedly  wondered  if  she  had  been  guilty  of  bad 
taste,  and  changed  the  subject. 

When  Peter  reached  the  Archinards'  at  half-past 
six  that  evening,  he  found  the  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Archinard  alone  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  Hilda  not  in  yet?  "  he  asked.  His  anxiety  was 
so  oppressive  that  he  really  could  not  forbear  open- 
ing the  old  subject  of  grievance.  Indeed,  Odd 
fancied  that  in  Mrs.  Archinard's  jeremiads  there  was 
an  element  of  maternal  solicitude.  That  Hilda 
should  voluntarily  immolate  herself,  have  no  pretty 
dresses,  show  herself  nowhere — these  facts  perhaps 
moved  Mrs.  Archinard  as  much  as  her  own  neglected 
condition.  At  least,  so  Peter  charitably  hoped,  feel- 
ing almost  cruel  as  he  deliberately  broached  the  pain- 
ful  subject. 

Mrs.  Archinard  now  gave  a  dismal  sigh,  and  the 
Captain  shook  his  head  impatiently  as  he  put  down 
Le  Temps. 

Odd  went  on  quite  doggedly — 

"I  didn't  know  that  Hilda  sold  her  pictures. 
I  saw  one  of  them  at  Mrs.  Pope's  this  after- 
noon." 

There  could  certainly  be  no  indiscretion  in  the 
142 


HILDA 

statement,  for  Mrs.  Pope  herself  had  mentioned  the 
fact  of  Hilda's  success  as  well  known.  Indeed, 
although  the  Captain's  face  showed  an  uneasy  little 
change,  Mrs.  Archinard's  retained  its  undisturbed 
pathos. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "oh  yes,  Hilda  has  sold  several 
things,  I  believe.  She  certainly  needs  the  money. 
We  are  not  rich  people,  Peter."  Mrs.  Archinard  had 
immediately  adopted  the  affectionate  intimacy  of  the 
Christian  name.  "  And  we  could  hardly  indulge 
Hilda  in  her  artistic  career  if,  to  some  extent,  she 
did  not  help  herself.  I  fancy  that  Hilda  makes  few 
demands  on  her  papa's  purse,  and  she  must  have 
many  expenses.  Models  are  expensive  things,  I 
hear.  I  cannot  say  that  I  rejoice  in  her  success.  It 
seems  to  justify  her  obstinacy — makes  her  independ- 
ent of  our  desires — our  requests." 

Odd  felt  that  there  was  a  depth  of  selfish  igno- 
rance in  these  remarks.  The  Captain's  purse  he 
knew  by  experience  to  be  very  nearly  mythical,  and 
the  Captain's  expression  at  this  moment  showed  to 
Peter's  sharpened  apprehension  an  uncomfortable 
consciousness.  Peter  was  convinced  that,  far  from 
making  demands  on  papa's  purse,  Hilda  had  replen- 
ished it,  and  further  conjectures  as  to  Hilda's  ego- 
tistic one-sidedness  began  to  shape  themselves. 

"  And  a  very  lucky  girl  she  is  to  be  able  to  make 
money  so  easily,"  the  Captain  remarked,  after  a 
pause.  "  By  Jove  !  I  wish  that  doing  what  pleased 
me  most  would  give  me  a  large  income ! "  and  the 
Captain,  who  certainly  had  made  most  conscientious 
efforts  to  fulfil  his  nature,  and  had,  at  least,  tried  to 
do  what  most  pleased  him  all  his  life  long,  and  with 
143 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

the  utmost  energy,  looked  resentfully  at  his  narrow 
well-kept  finger-nails. 

"  Does  she  work  all  day  long  at  her  studio  ?  '* 
Peter  asked,  conscious  of  a  certain  hesitation  in  his 
voice.  The  mystery  of  Hilda's  afternoon  absences 
would  now  be  either  solved  or  determined.  It  was 
determined — definitely.  There  was  no  shade  of 
suspicion  in  Mrs.  Archinard's  sighing,  "  Dear  me, 
yes!  "  or  in  the  Captain's,  "  From  morning  till  night. 
Wears  herself  out." 

Hilda,  all  too  evidently,  had  a  secret. 

"  She  ought  to  go  to  two  studios,  it  would  tire 
her  less.  Her  own  half  the  day,  and  a  large  atelier 
the  other."  Assurance  might  as  well  be  made 
doubly  sure. 

"  Hilda  left  Julian's  a  long  time  ago.  She  has 
lived  in  her  own  place  since  then,  really  lived  there. 
I  have  n't  seen  it ;  of  course  I  could  not  attempt  the 
stairs.  Katherine  tells  me  there  are  terrible  stairs. 
Most  shockingly  unhealthy  life  she  leads,  I  think, 
and  most,  most  inconsiderate." 

At  the  dinner-table  Odd  knew  that  Hilda  had 
only  him  to  thank  for  the  thorough  "  heckling"  she 
received  at  the  hands  of  both  her  parents.  Her 
silence,  with  its  element  of  vacant  dulness,  now 
admitted  many  interpretations.  It  hedged  round 
a  secret  unknown  to  either  father  or  mother.  Un- 
known to  Katherine?  Her  grave  air  of  aloofness 
might  imply  as  much,  or  might  mean  only  a  natural 
disapproval  of  the  scolding  process  carried  on  be- 
fore her  lover,  a  loyalty  to  Hilda  that  would  ask  no 
question  and  make  no  reproach. 

"  Any  one  would  tell  you,  Hilda,  that  it  is  posi- 
144 


HILDA 

lively  not  decent  in  Paris  for  a  young  girl  to  be  out 
alone  after  dusk,"  said  the  Captain.  "  Odd  will  tell 
you  so ;  he  was  speaking  about  it  only  this  evening. 
You  must  come  home  earlier ;  I  insist  upon  it." 

Odd  sat  opposite  to  her,  and  Hilda  raised  her 
eyes  and  met  his. 

He  smiled  gravely  at  her,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Naughty  little  Hilda !  "  but  his  voice  expressed 
all  the  tender  sympathy  the  very  sight  of  her  roused 
in  him,  and  Hilda  smiled  back  faintly. 
10  145 


CHAPTER  III 

PETER  brought  Katharine  the  engagement  ring 
a  few  days  afterward.  The  drifting  had 
ceased  abruptly,  and  he  felt  the  new  sense  of  reality 
as  most  salutary.  His  personality  and  hers  now 
filled  the  horizon ;  their  relations  demanded  a 
healthy  condensation  of  thoughts  before  expanded 
in  wandering  infinity,  and  he  was  thankful  for  the 
consciousness  of  definite  duty  and  responsibility 
that  made  past  years  seem  the  refinement  of  ego- 
tism. 

Katherine  looked  almost  roguishly  gay  that  after- 
noon, and,  even  after  the  ring  was  exclaimed  over, 
put  on,  and  Peter  duly  kissed  for  it,  he  felt  that 
there  was  still  an  expression  of  happy  knowingness 
not  yet  accounted  for. 

"  The  ring  was  n't  a  surprise,  but  you  have  one 
for  me,  Katherine." 

Katherine  laughed  out  at  his  acuteness. 

"  The  ring  is  lovely  ;  clever,  sensitive  Peter  !  " 

"You  have  quite  convinced  me  of  your  pleasure 
and  my  own  good  taste.  What  is  the  news?" 

"Well,  Peter,  a  delightful  thing  has  happened,  or 
is  going  to  happen,  rather.  Allan  Hope  is  coming 
to  Paris  next  week  !  Peter,  we  may  have  a  double 
wedding ! " 

"  Hilda  has  accepted  him  ?  " 
146 


HILDA 

"  Oh,  we  have  not  openly  discussed  it,  you  know. 
Mamma  got  his  letter  this  morning ;  very  short. 
He  hoped  to  see  us  all  by  Wednesday.  Of  course, 
mamma  is  charmed.  Hilda  said  nothing,  and  went 
off  to  the  studio  as  usual ;  but  Hilda  never  does  say 
anything  if  she  is  really  feeling." 

"  Does  n't  she  ?"  There  was  a  musing  quality  in 
Odd's  voice. 

"  /  think  the  child  is  in  love  with  him  ;  I  thought 
so  from  the  first.  Wednesday !  A  week  from  to- 
morrow !  Oh,  of  course  she  will  have  him  !  "  Kath- 
erine  said  jubilantly. 

"  Allan  is  n't  the  man  to  fail  in  anything.  He  has 
a  great  deal  of  determination." 

"  Yes,  he  seems  the  very  embodiment  of  success, 
does  n't  he  ?  That  is  because  he  does  n't  try  to  see 
everything  at  once,  like  some  people  I  know."  And 
Katherine  nodded  her  head  laughingly  at  her^fow^/. 
"  Intellectual  epicureanism  is  fatal.  Allan  Hope  has 
no  unmanageable  opinions.  His  party  can  always 
count  on  him.  He  is  always  there,  unchanged — 
unless  they  change  !  He  pins  his  faith  to  his  party, 
and  verily  he  shall  have  his  reward  !  By  mere  force 
of  honest  mediocrity  he  will  mount  to  the  highest 
places !  " 

"  Venomous  little  Katherine !  What  are  you 
trying  to  insinuate  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  Lord  Allan  is  n't  particularly  clever, 
nor  particularly  anything,  except  particularly  useful 
to  men  who  can  be  clever  for  him.  He  is  the  bricks 
they  build  with." 

"Allan  is  as  honest  as  the  day,"  said  Peter,  a  little 
shortly. 

147 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Honest  ?  Who 's  a  denygin'  of  it,  pray  ?  His 
honesty  is  part  of  his  supreme  utility.  My  simile 
holds  good ;  he  is  a  brick ;  a  dishonest  man  is  a 
mere  tool,  fit  only  to  be  cast  away,  once  used." 

"  How  rhetorical  we  are  !  "  said  Odd,  smiling  at 
her  with  a  touch  of  friendly  mockery. 

"Lord  Allan  most  devoutly  believes  that  in  his 
party  lies  the  salvation  of  his  country,"  Katherine 
pursued.  "  Oh,  I  have  talked  to  him  !  " 

"You  have,  have  you?  Poor  chap!  "  ejaculated 
Peter.  "  Will  you  ever  serve  me  up  in  this  neatly 
dissected  way,  as  a  result  of  our  confidential  con- 
versations ?  " 

"  Willingly !  but  only  to  yourself.  Don't  be 
afraid,  Peter.  I  could  dissect  myself  far  more 
neatly,  far  more  unpleasantly.  I  have  a  genius  for 
the  scalpel !  And  I  have  said  nothing  in  the  least 
derogatory  to  Allan  Hope.  He  could  n't  disagree 
with  his  party,  any  more  than  a  pious  Catholic 
could  disagree  with  his  church.  It  is  a  matter  of 
faith,  and  of  shutting  the  eyes." 

If  Hilda  was  so  soon  to  pass  to  the  supreme  author- 
ity of  an  accepted  lover,  Peter  felt  that  for  his  own 
satisfaction  he  must  make  the  most  of  the  time  left 
him,  and  solve  the  riddle  of  her  occupations.  That 
delicate  sense  of  loyal  reticence  had  held  him  from 
a  hinted  question  to  even  Katherine.  If  Katherine 
were  as  ignorant  as  he,  a  question  would  arouse  and 
imply  suspicion.  Odd  could  suspect  Hilda  of 
nothing  worse  than  a  silly  disobedience  founded  on 
a  foolish  idea  of  her  own  artistic  worth  ;  a  dull  self- 
absorption,  unsaved  by  a  touch  of  humor.  Yet  this 
very  suspicion  irritated  Odd  profoundly ;  it  seemed 
148 


HILDA 

logical  and  yet  impossible.  He  felt,  in  his  very  re- 
vulsion from  it,  a  justification  for  a  storming  of  her 
barriers. 

That  very  evening,  while  Katherine  played  Schu- 
mann, the  Captain  having  gone  out  and  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard  dozing  on  the  sofa,  he  determined  to  have  the 
truth  if  possible. 

Hilda  stood  behind  her  sister,  listening.  Her  tall 
slenderness  looked  well  in  anything  that  fell  in  long 
lines,  even  if  made  by  the  most  petite  of  petite 
couturtires,  as  the  gray  silk  had  been.  The  white 
fichu  covered  deficiencies  of  fit,  and  left  free  the 
exquisite  line  of  her  throat.  Her  head,  in  its  atti- 
tude of  quiet  listening,  struck  Odd  with  the  old 
sense  of  a  beauty  significant,  not  the  lovely  mask  of 
emptiness. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,  Hilda,"  he  said  from  his 
place  on  the  sofa,  "  you  can  hear  better  at  this  dis- 
tance." 

The  quick  turn  of  her  head,  her  pretty  look  of 
willingness  were  charming,  he  thought. 

"  I  like  to  see  you  in  that  dress,"  he  said,  as  she 
sat  down  beside  him  on  the  sofa,  "there  isn't  a 
whiff  of  paint  or  palette  about  it,  except  that,  in  it, 
you  look  like  a  picture,  and  a  prettier  one  than  even 
you  could  paint." 

"That  is  a  very  subtle  insult!"  Hilda's  smile 
showed  a  most  encouraging  continuation  of  the 
pretty  willingness. 

"You  see,"  said  Odd,  "you  are  not  fair  to  your 
friends.     You  should  paint  fewer  pictures,  and  be 
more  constantly  a  picture  in  yourself."     She  showed 
a  little  uneasy  doubtfulness  of  look. 
149 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand  you.  I  am  afraid 
I  am  stupid." 

"  You  should  be  a  little  more,  and  act  a  little  less." 

"  But  to  act  is  to  be,"  said  Hilda,  with  a  sudden 
laugh.  "  We  are  not  listening  to  Schumann,"  she 
added,  a  trifle  maliciously.  Her  face  turned  toward 
him  in  a  soft  shadow,  a  line  of  light  just  defining 
the  cheek's  young  oval,  the  lovely  slimness  of  the 
throat  affected  Odd  with  a  really  rapturously  artistic 
appreciation.  The  shape  of  her  small  head,  too, 
with  its  high  curves  of  hair,  was  elegant  with  an 
intimate  elegance  peculiarly  characteristic.  An 
inner  gentle  dignity,  a  voluntary  submission  to 
exterior  facts  of  existence  resulting  in  a  higher 
freedom,  a  more  perfect  self-possession,  seemed  to 
emanate  from  her ;  the  very  poise  of  her  head  sug- 
gested it,  and  so  strong  and  so  sudden  was  the 
suggestion  that  Odd  felt  his  curiosity  intolerable, 
and  those  groping  suspicions  outrageously  at  sea. 

"  Hilda,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  I  went  to  your  studio 
the  other  afternoon.  You  were  not  there." 

Her  finger  flashed  warningly  to  her  lip,  and  her 
glance  towards  her  mother  turned  again  to  him, 
pained  and  beseeching. 

"  She — they  can't  hear,"  said  Odd,  in  a  still  lower 
voice. 

"  No,  I  was  not  there,"  Hilda  repeated. 

"And  your  father,  your  mother,  Katherine,  think 
you  are  there  when  you  are  not.  Is  that  wise  ? 
Don't  be  angry  with  me,  my  dear  Hilda.  You  may 
have  confidence  in  me.  Tell  me,  do  you  work  some- 
where else  ?  " 

"  No.     I  am  not  angry.     You  startled  me."     Her 


HILDA 

look  was  indeed  shaken,  but  sweet,  touched  even. 
"  Yes,  I  work  somewhere  else." 

"  And  you  keep  it  a  secret  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Is  it  safe  to  keep  secrets  from  your  father  and 
mother?  Or  is  it  a  secret  kept  for  their  sakes, 
Hilda?"  Peter  had  made  mental  combinations, 
yet  he  suspected  that  in  this  one  he  was  shooting 
rather  far  from  the  mark.  No  matter.  Hilda 
looked  away,  and  seemed  revolving  some  inner 
doubt.  Her  hesitation  surprised  him  ;  he  was  more 
surprised  when,  half  unwillingly,  she  whispered, 
"  Yes,"  still  not  looking  at  him. 

"  For  their  sakes,"  repeated  Odd,  his  curiosity 
redoubled.  "  Come,  Hilda,  please  tell  me  all  about 
it.  For  their  sakes  ?  " 

"  In  one  way."  Hilda  spoke  with  the  same  air 
of  half-unwilling  confidence.  But  that  she  should 
confide,  that  she  should  not  lock  herself  in  stubborn 
silence,  was  much. 

"  And  as  you  need  not  keep  it  for  my  sake,  you 
may  tell  me,"  he  urged ;  "  I  may  be  able  to  help 
you." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  need  help."  She  turned  a  slightly 
challenging  look  upon  him.  "  It  is  no  hardship  to 
me,  no  trouble  to  keep  my  little  secret." 

"  You  are  really  unkind  now,  Hilda." 

"  No," — her  smile  dwelt  on  him  meditatively ; 
"  but  I  see  no  reason,  no  necessity  for  telling  you. 
I  have  nothing  naughty  to  confess ! "  and  there  was 
a  touch  of  pride  in  her  laugh. 

"  Yes,  you  are  unkind,  for  you  turn  my  real  anx- 
iety to  a  jest." 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  You  must  not  be  anxious."  Her  eyes  still  rested 
on  his,  sweetly  and  gently. 

"  Not  when  I  see  you  surrounded  by  an  atmos- 
phere of  carping  criticism  ?  When  I  see  you  com- 
ing home,  night  after  night,  worn  out,  too  fatigued 
to  speak  ?  When  I  see  that  you  are  thin  and  white 
and  sad?  " 

Hilda  drew  herself  up  a  little. 

"  Oh,  you  are  mistaken.  But — how  kindoiyou.  \  " 
and  again  the  irradiated  look  lit  up  her  face. 

"  Does  that  surprise  you  ?  Hilda,  Katherine  is  in 
the  dark  about  this  too  ?  " 

"  Katherine  knows ;  but  please  don't  ask  her 
about  it." 

"  She  does  n't  approve,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly.  Besides,  it  might  hurt  her.  Please 
don't  ask  me  either.  It  really  is  n't  worth  any 
mystery,  and  yet  I  must  keep  it  a  secret." 

Odd  was  silent  for  a  moment,  a  baffling  sense  of 
pitfalls  and  hiding-places  upon  him. 

"  But  Katherine  ought  to  tell  me,"  he  said  at  last, 
smiling. 

"  Now  you  are  pushing  an  unfair  advantage.  She 
thinks,  probably,  that  it  might  hurt  me.  Really, 
really,"  she  added  urgently,  "  it  is  n't  so  serious  as 
all  this  seems  to  make  it.  The  one  serious  thing  is 
that  it  would  hurt  mamma,  and  that  is  why  I  make 
such  a  mountain  out  of  my  mole-hill.  How  mystery 
does  magnify  the  tiniest  things!  " 

"  Tell  me,  at  least,  where  you  go  in  the  afternoon. 
I  mean  to  what  part  of  Paris,  to  what  street." 

"  I  go  to  several  streets,"  said  Hilda,  smiling  re- 
signedly, "  since  you  will  be  so  curious." 
152 


HILDA 

"  Where  are  you  going  to-morrow  ?  Give  me  just 
an  idea  of  your  prowess." 

"I  go  to-morrow  to  the  Rued'Assas." 

"  Near  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  fancied  you  were  walking  yourself  to  death. 
And  next  day  ?  " 

"  Next  day — the  Rue  Poulletier." 

"  And  where  may  that  be  ?  I  fancied  I  knew  my 
Paris  well." 

"  It  is  a  little  street  in  the  lie  St.  Louis.  That  is 
my  favorite  walk  ;  home  along  the  quays.  I  get  the 
view  of  Notre  Dame  from  the  back,  with  all  the  fly- 
ing buttresses,  and  the  sunset  beyond." 

"  No  wonder  you  are  tired  every  night.  You 
always  walk  ?  " 

"  Usually.  I  have  Palamon  with  me,  and^  they 
would  not  take  him  in  a  'bus.  But  from  the  lie  St. 
Louis  I  often  take  the  boat,  and  that  is  one  of  the 
treats  of  Paris,  I  think,  especially  when  the  lights 
are  lit.  And  on  some  days  I  go  to  the  Boulevard  St. 
Germain.  There ;  now  you  shall  ask  me  no  more 
questions." 

Odd  made  no  further  comment  on  the  informa- 
tion he  had  received,  but  he  resolved  to  be  in  the 
Rue  d'Assas  to-morrow.  He  did  not  intend  to  spy, 
but  he  did  intend  to  walk  home  with  Hilda,  and 
to  make  her  understand  that  one  of  the  brotherly 
offices  he  claimed  was  the  right  to  protecting  com- 
panionship. He  revolved  the  rdle  and  its  possi- 
bilities, as  he  lay  back  in  the  sofa  watching  Hilda's 
profile,  and  listening  to  Schumann — a  rdle  that  could, 
at  all  events,  not  last  long,  since  Allan  Hope  arrived 
153 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

on  Wednesday.  Allan's  arrival  would  put  an  end 
to  mysteries,  to  a  need  for  brotherly  protection. 
Odd  felt  a  certain  curiosity  on  this  point ;  indeed 
his  attitude  towards  Hilda  was  one  of  continual 
curiosity. 

"  So  Allan  Hope  turns  up  Wednesday  week,"  he 
said.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  Allan  again." 

Hilda's  silence  might  imply  displeasure,  but  Odd, 
in  an  attitude  of  manly  laziness,  one  leg  crossed 
over  the  other,  one  hand  holding  an  ankle,  thought 
a  little  gentle  teasing  quite  allowable. 

"Will  you  go  bicycling  with  him,  unkind  Hilda?" 
He  was  not  prepared  for  the  startled  look  she  turned 
on  him. 

"  When  I  would  not  go  with  you  ?  "  Her  own 
vehemence  seemed  to  embarrass  her.  "  I  hardly 
know  how  to  bicycle  at  all,"  she  added  lamely ;  "  I 
would  have  gone  with  you  if  I  had  had  time."  She 
looked  away  again,  and  then,  taking  a  book  from 
the  table  beside  her — 

"  Have  you  seen  the  last  volume  of  decadent 
poetry?  Isn't  the  binding  nice?"  Odd  felt  him- 
self justly,  but  rather  severely,  reproved  ;  yet  the 
gentle  candor  of  her  eyes  was  kind  and  soothing. 
Katherine  was  playing  the  "  Chopin  "  from  Schu- 
mann's "  Carnaval,"  and  Peter,  still  holding  his 
ankle  and  feeling  rather  like  a  naughty  little  boy 
forgiven,  did  not  look  at  the  fantastic  volume  she 
held,  but  at  Hilda  herself.  How  blue  the  shadows 
were  on  the  milky  whiteness  of  her  skin.  Odd's 
eyes  followed  the  thick,  soft  eddies  of  hair  about 
her  forehead. 

"Aren't  the  margins  generous?"  said  Hilda, 
154 


HILDA 

turning  the  pages ;  "  a  mere  trickle  of  print  through 
the  whiteness.     Some  of  the  verses  are  really  very 
pretty,"  and  she  talked  gayly,  in  her  gentle  way,  as 
they  went  through  the  pages  together. 
155 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  was  just  past  four  when  Peter  walked  up  the 
Rue  Bonaparte  and  stationed  himself  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  Rue  Vavin  and  the  Rue  d'Assas,  opposite 
the  Luxembourg  Gardens. 

From  this  point  of  vantage  he  could  look  up  and 
down  the  street,  and  there  would  be  no  chance  of 
missing  her.  She  rarely  reached  home  till  past  six, 
and,  even  allowing  for  very  slow  walking,  he  was  if 
anything  too  early. 

He  felt,  as  he  opened  his  umbrella — it  had  begun 
to  rain — that  his  present  position  might  look  foolish, 
but  was  certainly  justifiable.  He  would  ask  Hilda 
no  questions,  force  in  no  way  her  confidence,  but 
really  on  the  gray  dreariness  of  such  a  day  she  ought 
not  to  reject  but  rather  to  be  glad  for  his  proffered 
and  unexpected  companionship.  The  combined 
dreariness  of  the  afternoon  with  its  cold  rain,  the 
gray  street,  the  desolate-looking  branches  of  the 
trees  in  the  Luxembourg  Gardens,  inspired  him  with 
a  painful  sympathy  for  Hilda's  pursuits.  She  was, 
probably,  working  in  one  of  these  tall,  severe  houses  ; 
perhaps  with  some  atelier  chum  fallen  beneath  the 
ban  of  Mrs.  Archinard's  disapproval,  and  clung  to 
with  a  girl's  enthusiasm.  Disobedient  of  Hilda, 
very.  The  chum  might  be  masculine.  This  was  a 
new  and  disagreeable  supposition  ;  a  Marie  Bash- 
156 


HILDA 

kirtseff,  Bastien  Lepage  affair ;  Bohemia  gloried  in 
such  audacities ;  it  was  difficult  to  associate  Hilda 
with  such  feats  of  independence.  There  was  a  mys- 
tery somewhere,  however,  and  if  not  mountainous, 
it  must  be  more  than  mere  mole-hill.  It  was  very 
windy,  and  the  rain  blew  slantingly.  Katherine 
would  find  the  situation  amusing.  A  vision  of  the 
sympathetic  amusement  was  followed  by  the  realiza- 
tion that  to  betray  his  Quixotism  might  be  to  be- 
tray Hilda's  confidence.  Yet  Hilda  had  made  no 
confidence.  Peter  rebelled  at  the  mere  suggestion 
of  concealment.  Knowing  all,  Katherine  could 
surely  know  that  he  had  been  admitted  into  the 
outer  courts  of  the  mystery.  He  had  ample  time 
for  every  variety  of  reflection,  for  he  had  been  stand- 
ing in  the  rain  for  over  an  hour,  when  Hilda  ap- 
peared not  far  from  him,  stepping  from  the  door  of 
one  of  the  largest  and  most  dignified  of  the  gray 
houses.  She  paused  on  the  wet  pavement  to  open 
her  umbrella,  and  Peter  had  a  glimpse  of  the  wide 
red  lips  and  small  black  beard  of  an  unpleasant-look- 
ing French  youth,  who  seemed  to  loiter  behind  her 
with  a  certain  air  of  expectancy.  It  was  impossible 
to  connect  his  commonplace  vulgarity  of  aspect 
with  Bohemian  friendships  or  with  Hilda,  and,  in- 
deed, she  gave  him  a  mere  nod,  not  looking  at  him 
at  all,  and  came  walking  up  the  street,  her  skirt 
raised  in  one  hand,  showing  slim  feet  and  ankles. 
Odd,  as  he  contemplated  her  advance,  was  reminded 
of  the  light  poise  of  a  Jean  Goujon  nymph.  Her 
umbrella,  lowered  against  the  wind,  hid  him  from  her. 
"  Well,  Hilda,"  he  said  amicably,  when  she  was 
almost  beside  him — the  umbrella  tilted  back  over 
157 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

her  shoulder,  and  the  rain  fell  on  her  startled  face — 
"  Here  I  am." 

Her  stare  of  utmost  amazement  was  very  amusing, 
but  she  looked  white  and  tired. 

"  I  must  get  a  fiacre,  I  have  n't  your  taste  for 
plodding  through  rain  and  mud,  and  you  '11  be  kind 
enough  to  forego  the  enjoyment  for  one  day,  won't 
you  ?  "  Her  stupefaction  at  last  resolved  itself  into 
one  word  :  "  Well !  "  she  exclaimed  with  emphasis, 
and  then  she  laughed  outright. 

"  By  Jove,  child,  you  look  done  up.  I  'm  glad 
you  're  not  angry,  though.  You  would  n't  laugh  if 
you  were  angry,  would  you?  Here  is  a  fiacre" 
He  hailed  the  approaching  vehicle ;  the  cocker 's 
hat  and  cape,  the  roof  of  the  cab,  the  horse's  water- 
proof covering  glistened  with  rain  in  the  dying  light. 

"You  are  very,  very  kind,"  Hilda  said,  rather 
gravely  now,  as  they  stood  side  by  side  on  the  curb 
while  \he  fiacre  rattled  up  to  them. 

"  I  always  intend  to  be  kind,  Hilda,  if  you  will  let 
me.  Jump  in."  He  followed  her,  slamming  the 
door  with  relief,  and  depositing  the  two  dripping 
umbrellas  in  a  corner. 

"  You  must  be  drenched,"  said  Hilda  solemnly. 

"  Imitation  is  the  sincerest  flattery,  I  believe ; 
your  fondness  for  drenchings  inspired  me.  You  are 
not  one  bit  angry,  then  ?  You  see  I  ask  you  no 
questions." 

"  Angry  ?  It  was  too  good  of  you  !  "  Her  voice 
was  still  meditative. 

"  I  am  much  relieved  that  you  should  say  so.  I 
was  only  conscious  of  guilt." 

"  How  long  did  you  wait  ?  " 
158 


HILDA 

"  About  an  hour." 

"  And  it  *w&$>  pouring  !  " 

"  Oh  no,  not  pouring.  I  have  suffered  far  worse 
drenchings  for  far  less  pleasure.  One  has  no  um- 
brella in  Scotland  on  the  moors." 

"  One  has,  at  least,  the  scenery."     Hilda  smiled. 

"  Yes  ;  the  Rue  d'Assas  is  n't  particularly  inspir- 
ing. I  don't  disclaim  honor ;  that  corner  was  most 
wearing.  Only  the  irritation  of  waiting  for  my 
mysterious  little  truant  kept  me  from  finding  it 
dreary." 

"  Don't  call  me  mysterious,  please." 

"  But  you  are  mysterious,  Hilda ;  very.  How- 
ever, I  promised  myself,  and  I  promise  you,  to  say 
no  more  about  it,  to  ask  no  questions." 

"  You  are  so  kind,  so  good."  There  was  deep 
feeling  in  her  voice  ;  she  looked  at  him  with  a  cer- 
tain wistful  eagerness.  "  You  really  do  care,  don't 
you?  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  I  should  like  to.  It  seems 
silly  not  to  tell  you,  and  I  think  you  have  a  right  to 
know — after  to-day." 

"  I  really  care  a  great  deal,  Hilda  ;  but — I  don't 
want  to  take  an  unfair  advantage,  you  know ;  I 
really  have  no  right  whatsoever.  Wait  till  this  im- 
pulse of  unmerited  gratitude  has  passed." 

"  But  it  is  nothing  to  tell,  really  nothing.  You 
see — I  make  money.  I  have  to — I  teach.  There ; 
that  is  all." 

Peter  looked  at  her,  at  the  white  oval  of  her  face, 
at  the  unfashionable  little  hat,  at  the  shabby  coat 
and  skirt.  A  lily  of  the  field  who  toiled  and  spun. 
And  a  hot  resentment  rose  within  him  as  he  thought 
of  the  father,  the  mother,  the  sister. 
159 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Why  have  you  to  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  hard  voice. 
"  We  are  so  dreadfully  poor,  and  we  are  so  dread- 
fully in  debt." 

"  But  why  you  alone  ?  What  can  you  do  ?  " 
"  I  can  do  a  good  deal.  I  have  been  very  lucky. 
I  love  my  work  too,  and  I  make  money  by  it,  so 
it  is  natural.  Mamma,  of  course,  would  think  it 
terrible,  degrading  even ;  but  I  can't  agree  with 
mamma's  point  of  view ;  I  think  it  is  quite  wrong. 
I  see  nothing  terrible  or  degrading." 

"  No ;  nothing  terrible  or  degrading,  I  grant  you." 
"  You  think  I  am  right,  don't  you  ?  " 
"  Yes  ;  quite  right,  dear,  quite  right." 
Odd  paused  before  adding :  "  It  is  the  incongruity 
that  is  shocking." 

"  The  incongruity  ?  "     Hilda's  voice  was  vague. 
"  Between  your  life  and  theirs  ;  yes." 
"  Oh,  you   don't   understand.     I  love  my  work ; 
it  is  my  pleasure.     Besides,  they  don't  know ;  they 
don't  realize  the  necessity  either." 

"Why  the  teaching?  I  thought  your  pictures 
sold  well." 

"  And  so  they  do,  often ;  but  I  took  up  the 
teaching  some  years  ago,  before  I  had  any  hope 
of  selling  my  pictures ;  it  is  very  sure,  very  well 
paid,  and  I  really  find  it  a  rest  after  five  hours  of 
studio  work ;  after  five  hours  I  don't  feel  a  picture 
any  longer." 

"  Yet  they  must  know  that  the  money  comes  from 
somewhere?  " 

Hilda's  voice  in  replying  held  a  pained  quality ; 
this  attack  on  her  family  very  evidently  perplexed 
her. 

160 


HILDA 

"  Mamma  thinks  it  comes  from  papa,  and  papa, 
I  suppose,  does  n't  think  about  it  at  all ;  he  knows, 
too,  that  I  sell  my  pictures.  You  must  n't  imagine," 
she  added,  with  a  touch  of  pride  and  resentment, 
"  that  they  would  let  me  teach  if  they  knew ;  you 
must  n't  imagine  that  for  one  moment.  And  I  don't 
mean  to  let  them  know,  for  then  I  could  n't  help 
them ;  as  it  is,  my  help  is  limited.  The  money 
goes,  for  the  most  part,  towards  guarding  mamma. 
She  could  not  bear  shocks  and  anxiety." 

Odd  said  nothing  for  some  moments. 

"  How  did  it  begin?  how  did  you  come  to  think 
of  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  began  some  years  ago,  at  the  studio  where 
I  worked  when  I  first  came  to  Paris.  There  was 
a  kind,  dull  French  girl  there ;  she  had  no  talent, 
and  she  was  very  rich.  She  heard  my  work  praised 
a  good  deal,  and  one  day,  after  I  had  got  a  picture 
into  the  Salon  for  the  first  time,  she  came  and  asked 
me  if  I  would  give  her  lessons.  Fifteen  francs  an 
hour."  Hilda  paused  in  a  way  which  showed  Odd 
that  the  recollection  was  painful  to  her. 

"  It  seemed  a  very  strange  thing  to  me  at  first, 
that  she  should  ask  me.  I  had,  I  'm  afraid,  rather 
silly  ideas  about  Katherine  and  myself ;  as  though 
we  were  very  elevated  young  persons,  above  all  the 
unpleasant  realities  of  life.  But  my  common  sense 
soon  got  the  better  of  my  pride  ;  or  rather,  I  should 
say,  the  false  pride  made  way  for  the  honest.  We 
were  aivfully  poor  just  then.  Papa,  of  course,  never 
could,  never  even  tried  to  make  money  ;  but  that  win- 
ter he  went  in  for  exasperated  speculation,  and  really 
Katherine  and  I  did  not  know  what  was  to  become 
161 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

of  us.  To  keep  it  from  mamma  was  the  great 
thing.  Katherine  was  just  beginning  to  go  out,  and 
no  money  for  gowns  and  cabs;  no  money,  even,  for 
mamma's  books.  Keeping  up  with  current  literature 
is  expensive,  you  know,  and  mamma  has  a  horror  of 
circulating  libraries.  The  thought  of  poor  mamma's 
empty  life  soon  decided  me.  I  remember  she  had 
asked  one  day  for  John  Addington  Symonds's  last 
book,  and  Katherine  and  I  looked  at  one  another, 
knowing  that  it  could  not  be  bought.  I  realized 
then,  that  at  all  events  I  could  make  enough  to 
keep  mamma  in  books  and  Katherine  in  gloves. 
You  can't  think  how  nasty,  how  egotistic  my  vulgar 
hesitation  seemed  to  me.  My  life  so  full,  so  happy, 
and  theirs  on  the  verge  of  ruin.  There  is  something 
very  selfish  about  art,  you  know;  it  shuts  one  off 
so  much  from  real  life,  makes  one  so  indifferent  to 
scrapings  and  pinchings.  I  realized  that,  with  my 
shabby  clothes  and  apparent  talent,  it  was  most 
natural  for  the  French  girl  to  think  I  should  be  glad 
of  her  offer;  and  indeed  I  was.  It  was  soothing, 
too,  to  have  her  so  eager.  She  wanted  me  very 
much,  so  I  yielded  gracefully."  Hilda  gave  a  little 
smile  of  self-mockery.  "  I  have  taught  her  ever 
since.  She  lives  in  that  house  in  the  Rue  d'Assas ; 
rich,  bourgeois  people,  common,  but  kind.  She  has 
no  talent  " — Hilda's  matter-of-fact  manner  of  knowl- 
edge was  really  impressive — "  but  I  don't  feel  un- 
fair in  going  on  with  her,  for  she  really  does  see 
things  now,  and  that  is  the  greatest  pleasure  next  to 
seeing  and  accomplishing ;  and,  indeed,  how  rarely 
one  accomplishes.  Through  her  I  have  a  great 
many  pupils,  for  Other  girls  at  the  studio  heard  of 
162 


HILDA 

her  progress  with  me,  and  wanted  private  lessons 
too.  All  my  afternoons  are  taken  up,  and,  with 
fifteen  francs  an  hour,  you  can  see  what  a  lot  I  make. 
It  rather  annoys  me  to  think  of  people  far  cleverer 
than  I  am  who  can  make  nothing,  and  I,  just  be- 
cause I  have  had  luck,  making  so  much.  But  among 
my  pupils,  I  really  have  quite  a  vogue  ;  and  I  am  a 
good  teacher,  I  really  think  I  am." 

"  I  am  sure  your  pupils  are  very  lucky.  You  have 
a  great  many,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  quite  a  lot.  Sometimes  I  give  three  les- 
sons in  an  afternoon.  With  Mademoiselle  Lebon, 
my  first  pupil,  I  spend  all  the  afternoon  twice  a 
week.  She  has  a  gorgeous  studio."  Hilda  smiled 
again.  "  It  is  very  nice  working  there.  To-morrow 
I  go  for  two  hours  to  an  old  lady  ;  she  lives  in  the 
Boulevard  St.  Germain  ;  she  is  a  dear,  and  a  great 
deal  of  talent  too  ;  she  does  flowers  exquisitely ;  not 
the  dreadful  feminine  vulgarities  one  usually  asso- 
ciates with  women's  flower-painting ;  why  all  the 
incompetents  should  fall  back  on  those  loveliest  and 
most  difficult  things,  I  never  could  understand.  But 
my  pupil  really  sees  and  selects.  Only  think  how 
funny  !  Katherine  met  her  son  at  a  dance  one 
night — the  Comte  de  Chalons — insignificant  but 
nice,  she  said  ;  how  little  he  could  have  connected 
Katherine  with  his  mother's  teacher  !  Indeed,  he 
never  saw  me,"  and  Hilda's  smile  became  decidedly 
clever.  "  I  suppose  the  comtesse — she  really  is  a 
dear,  too — thinks  that  for  a  penniless  young  teacher 
I  am  too  pretty.  Well,  I  make  on  an  average  thirty 
francs  an  afternoon.  I  give  Mademoiselle  Lebon 
and  Madame  de  Chalons  double  time  for  their 
163 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

money,  as  old  pupils.  It  would  be  easier  to  have  a 
class  in  my  studio,  of  course,  but  I  would  lose  many 
of  my  most  interesting  pupils,  who  don't  care  about 
going  out ;  then,  too,  it  would  be  almost  impossible 
to  keep  my  misdoings  undiscovered.  And  there  is 
all  the  mystery  !  "  She  leaned  forward  in  the  dusk 
of  the  cab  to  smile  at  him  playfully.  "  I  am  glad  to 
get  it  off  my  mind  ;  glad,  too,  that  you  should  know 
why  I  am  so  often  cross  and  dull ;  by  the  time  I 
reach  home  I  am  tired.  I  always  bring  Palamon, 
unless  it  is  as  rainy  as  to-day,  and  of  course  he  puts 
omnibuses  out  of  the  question  ;  omnibuses  rnount 
up,  too,  when  one  takes  them  every  day.  Excuse 
these  sordid  details." 

"  I  should  think  that  a  young  lady  who  earns 
thirty  francs  an  afternoon  might  afford  a  cab." 
Odd  found  it  rather  difficult  to  speak.  She  was 
mercifully  unaware  of  the  aspect  in  which  her 
drudging,  crushed  young  life  appeared  to  him. 

"  And  then,  what  would  Palamon  and  I  do  for 
exercise !  "  said  Hilda  lightly ;  "  it  is  the  walking 
that  keeps  me  well,  I  am  sure." 

His  silence  seemed  to  depress  her  gayety,  for  after 
a  moment  she  added:  "  And  really  you  don't  know 
how  poor  we  are.  I  have  no  right  to  cabs,  really. 
As  it  is,  it  often  seems  wrong  to  me  spending  the 
money  as  I  do  when  we  owe  so  much,  so  terribly 
much.  Thirty  francs  is  a  lot,  but  we  need  every 
penny  of  it,  for  mere  everyday  life.  I  have  paid 
off  some  of  the  smaller  debts  by  instalments, 
but  the  weekly  bills  seem  to  swallow  up  every- 
thing." 

His  realization  of  this  silent  struggle — the  whole 
164 


HILDA 

Weight  of  her  selfish  family  on  her  frail  shoulders- 
made  Odd  afraid  of  his  own  indignation.  The  re- 
membrance of  Mrs.  Archinard's  whines,  the  Captain's 
taunts,  yes,  and  worst  of  all,  Katherine's  gowns  and 
gayety,  almost  overcame  him.  He  took  her  hand 
in  his  and  held  it  as  they  rolled  along  through  the 
wetly  shining  streets.  His  continued  silence  rather 
alarmed  Hilda.  The  relief  of  full  confidence  was  so 
great  that  she  could  not  bear  it  impaired  by  any 
misinterpretation. 

"  You  do  understand,"  she  said  ;  "you  do  think  I 
am  right?  My  success  seems  unmerited  to  you, 
perhaps  ?  But  I  try  to  give  my  best.  I  seem  very 
selfish  and  unkind  to  mamma,  I  know,  but  I  really 
am  kind — don't  you  think  so? — in  keeping  the  truth 
from  her  and  letting  her  misjudge  me.  I  know  you 
have  thought  of  me  that  I  was  one  of  those  selfish 
idiots  who  neglect  their  real  duties  for  their  art ; 
but  I  can  do  more  for  mamma  outside  our  home. 
And  I  read  to  her  in  the  evening.  Oh,  how  con- 
ceited, egotistic,  all  that  sounds !  But  I  do  want 
you  to  believe  that  I  try  to  do  what  seems  best  and 
wisest." 

"  Hilda !  Hilda ! "  he  put  her  hand  to  his  lips  and 
kissed  the  worn  glove. 

"  You  simply  astound  me,"  he  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment ;  "  your  little  life  facing  this  great  Paris." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  careful,  very  wise,"  Hilda  said 
quickly. 

"  Careful  ?  You  mean  that  if  you  were  not  you 
might  encounter  unpleasantnesses  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  look  of  knowledge  that 
went  strangely  with  her  delicate  face. 
165 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Of  course  one  must  be  careful.  I  am  young — 
and  pretty.  I  have  learned  that." 

"  My  child,  what  other  things  have  you  learned  ?  " 
And  Odd's  hold  tightened  on  her  hand. 

"That  terrifying  things  might  happen  if  one  were 
not  brave.  Don't  exaggerate,  please.  I  really  have 
found  so  few  lions  in  my  path,  and  a  girl  of  dignity 
cannot  be  really  annoyed  beyond  a  certain  point. 
Lions  are  very  much  magnified  in  popular  and  con- 
ventional estimation.  A  girl  can,  practically,  do 
anything  she  likes  here  in  Paris  if  she  is  quiet  and 
self-reliant." 

Odd  stared  at  her. 

"  Of  course  I  have  always  been  a  coward,  after  a 
fashion ;  I  was  frightened  at  first,"  said  Hilda.  He 
understood  now  the  look  of  moral  courage  that  had 
haunted  him  ;  natural  timidity  steeled  to  endurance. 
"The  greatest  trouble  with  me  is  that  I  am  too 
noticeable,  too  pretty."  She  spoke  of  her  beauty 
in  a  tone  of  matter-of-fact  experience  ;  "  it  is  a  pity 
for  a  working  woman." 

"  My  child,"  Odd  repeated.     He  felt  dazed. 

"  Please  don't  exaggerate,"  Hilda  reiterated. 

"  Exaggerate  ?  Tell  me  about  these  lions.  How 
have  you  vanquished  them?  " 

"  I  have  merely  walked  past  them." 

His  evident  dismay  gave  her  a  merry  little  moment 
of  superior  wisdom. 

"  They  frightened  me  and  that  was  all.  One  was 
the  husband  of  a  person  I  taught.  He  used  to  lie 
in  wait  for  me  in  the  dining-room."  Hilda  gave 
Odd  a  rather  meditative  glance.  "  You  won't  be 

166 


HILDA 

angry  ?  Angry  with  me  for  keeping  on  in  my  path 
of  independence  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  won't  be  angry  with  you."  Odd  felt  that 
his  very  lips  were  white. 

"  Well,  he  gave  me  a  letter  one  day."  Hilda 
paused.  "  What  a  despicable  man  !  "  she  said  re- 
flectively ;  "  I  taught  his  wife  !  I  tore  the  letter  in 
two,  gave  it  back  to  him,  and  walked  out.  Natu- 
rally, I  never  went  back  again."  Her  voice  suddenly 
broke.  "  Oh  !  it  was  horrible  !  I  felt—" 

"  What  did  you  feel  ?  " 

"  I  felt  as  though  I  were  for  evermore  set  apart 
from  my  kind  of  girl,  from  girls  like  Katherine.  I 
felt  smirched,  as  though  some  one  had  thrown 
mud  at  me.  That  was  morbid.  I  got  over  it." 

"  Heavens !  "  Odd  ejaculated.  "  Katherine  knows 
this  too  ?  "  he  asked  bitingly. 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  Mr.  Odd,  you  are  the  only  person. 
Never  speak  of  it,  will  you  ?  Never,  never !  Poor 
Kathy  !  It  would  drive  her  mad  !  " 

"And  she  knows  of  your  work?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  had  to  tell  her  of  that.  She  felt  dread- 
fully about  it.  She  wanted  me  to  go  out  with  her, 
and  have  pretty  dresses,  and  meet  the  clever  people 
she  meets.  You  should  have  seen  how  happy  she 
was  in  London  last  spring  !  To  have  me  with  her ! 
Wrenched  away  from  my  paint !  Of  course  I  could 
not  give  up  my  work,  even  if  there  had  been  money 
enough.  I  made  her  see  that,  and  I  can't  say  I 
made  her  agree,  but  I  made  her  yield.  She  takes 
a  false  view  of  it  still,  and  worries  over  it.  She 
wants  me  to  give  up  the  teaching  and  paint  pic- 
tures only  ;  but  that  would  be  too  risky,  they  don't 
167 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

sell  so  surely.  I  have  several  on  my  hands.  But 
Katherine  knows  nothing  of  lions  and  unpleasant- 
ness. I  must  keep  such  things  secret,  or  I  should 
not  be  allowed  to  go  on." 

"You  think  I  am  safe.  I  must  allow  you,  I 
suppose? " 

"Yes,  you  must."  She  smiled  a  very  decided 
little  smile,  adding  gravely,  "  I  have  confided  in 
you." 

"Trust  me."  There  was  silence  in  the  cab  for 
some  moments.  The  tall  trees  of  the  Cours  la 
Reine  dripped  in  a  misty  mass  on  one  side  ;  on  the 
other  was  the  Seine  with  its  lights. 

"  And  the  young  man  I  saw  at  the  door  as  you 
came  out  to-day  ?  "  said  Odd. 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing,  I  hope.  He  is  Mademoi- 
selle Lebon's  brother.  A  harmlessly  disagreeable 
creature,  I  fancy."  Odd  resumed  his  brooding 
silence.  "  What  are  you  thinking  of  so  solemnly  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Of  you." 

"  Why  so  solemnly  ?  I  am  afraid  you  are  labor- 
ing under  all  sorts  of  false  impressions.  I  have  told 
my  story  stupidly." 

"  The  true  impression  has  stupefied  me.  Good 
heavens  !  Theoretically  I  believe  in  the  develop- 
ment of  character  at  all  costs,  and  you  have  certainly 
developed  a  rara  avis  in  the  line  ;  but  practically, 
practically,  my  dear  little  girl,  I  would  have  you 
taken  care  of  in  cotton-wool,  guarded,  protected  ; 
you  would  always  be  lovely,  and  you  would  have 
been  happy.  You  have  been  very  unhappy." 

Hilda  was  looking  at  him  with  that  rather  vague 
168 


HILDA 

look  of  impersonal  contemplation  characteristic  of 
her. 

"  How  you  exaggerate  things,"  she  said,  smiling; 
"  I  have  not  been  unhappy." 

"  The  pity  of  it !  The  pathos  !  "  Odd  pursued, 
not  heeding  her  comment.  Hilda  looked  at  him 
rather  sadly. 

"You  mean  that  I  should  have  lost  my  igno- 
rance? Yes,  that  made  me  feel  badly,"  she  as- 
sented. "  That  is  the  worst  of  it.  One  becomes 
so  suspicious.  But,  Mr.  Odd,  that  is  merely  a 
sentimental  regret.  I  have  not  lost  my  self-respect. 
I  am  not  ignorant  of  things  I  should  like  to  ignore ; 
but  one  may  know  a  great  many  things,  and  be 
unharmed." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  probably  innocent  of 
things  familiar  to  many  modern  girls.  No  knowl- 
edge could  harm  you.  You  have  a  right  to  more 
than  self-respect.  You  are  a  little  heroine.  Your 
unrewarded,  unrecognized  fight  fills  me  with  amaze- 
ment and  reverence.  I  did  not  know  that  such 
self-forgetful  devotion  existed." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  talk  like  that !  It  is  quite 
ridiculous  !  We  must  have  money,  and  I  can  make 
it  easily.  I  would  be  quite  a  monster  if  I  sat  idly 
at  home,  and  saw  mamma  in  squalid  misery.  I 
merely  do  my  duty."  Hilda  spoke  quite  sharply 
and  decisively. 

"  Merely  !  "  Odd  ejaculated. 

A  thought   of  the   near   future,  of  Allan  Hope, 
kept  him  silent,  otherwise  he  might  have  indulged 
in  reckless  invective.     He  still  held  her  hand,  and 
again  he  raised  it  to  his  lips. 
169 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  That  is  a  very  stubborn  and  unconvinced  salute, 
I  am  afraid,"  Hilda  said  good-humoredly. 

"  May  I  come  and  get  you  now  and  then?"  he 
asked. 

"  You  think  it  would  be  wise  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  wise,  Hilda  ?  " 

"  I  might  be  found  out.  I  have  given  you  my 
secret.  You  must  help  me  to  keep  it." 

"I  may  speak  of  it  to  Katherine — since  she 
knows  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  to  Katherine.  But  don't  egg 
her  on  to  worry  me !  "  laughed  Hilda  ;  "  and  speak 
to  her  with  reservations — there  are  things  she  must 
not  know." 

Peter  wondered  if  the  child-friendship,  the 
brotherly  relations,  entitled  him  to  seal  the  com- 
pact with  a  kiss  upon  her  lips.  He  looked  at  her 
with  a  sudden  quickening  of  breath.  Her  dimly 
seen  face  was  very  beautiful.  This  realization  of  her 
beauty's  attraction  at  that  moment  struck  him  with 
a  sense  of  abasement  before  her.  Surely  no  such 
poor  tie  held  him  to  this  lovely  soul.  And,  at  the 
turn  of  his  own  thoughts,  Odd  felt  a  vague  stir 
of  fear. 

I/O 


CHAPTER  V 

ODD  was  to  take  a  walk  in  the  Bois  with  Kath- 
erine  the  next  morning,  and  he  found  her 
waiting  for  him  in  hat  and  coat  and  furs,  a  delight- 
fully smart  and  wintry  little  figure.  Katherine  never 
failed  in  elegance,  in  well-groomed  finish — her  low- 
heeled  little  boots,  her  irreproachable  snowy  gloves, 
bore  the  same  unmistakable  stamp  of  \\\e  cachet  that 
costs,  that  is  not  to  be  procured  ready  made.  Odd, 
as  a  rich  man,  had  given  very  little  thought  to  the 
power  of  money,  and  little  thought  to  Katherine's 
garments  except  as  charmingly  characteristic  sym- 
bols of  good  taste ;  but  to-day  his  eye  noted  the 
black  fur  that  fell  about  her  shoulders  and  trailed 
lustrous  ends  to  her  very  feet,  more  for  its  richness 
than  its  becomingness. 

Her  bright  though  slightly  grave  smile  failed  to 
restore  him  to  his  usual  attitude  of  bon  camaraderie. 
He  smiled  and  kissed  her,  but  he  was  conscious  of 
underlying  soreness,  conscious,  too,  that  he  might 
lose  his  temper  with  Katherine ;  he  had  never  lost 
it  with  Alicia.  Katherine's  very  superiority  made  it 
imperative  to  have  things  out  with  her.  Kindly 
resignation  was  an  impossibility.  He  realized  that 
not  to  admire  Katherine  would  make  life  with  her 
intolerable.  She  would  immediately  perceive  res- 
ervations and  she  would  revolt  against  them.  He 
171 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

wondered  whether  he  should  be  the  one  to  broach 
the  subject  of  Hilda's  ill-treatment,  and  was  amazed 
at  a  certain  embarrassed  shrinking,  as  from  a  feeling 
too  deep  for  words,  that  kept  him  silent  as  they 
walked  along,  taking  a  short  cut  to  the  Place  de 
1'Etoile,  where  the  Arc  stood  in  almost  cardboard 
clearness  on  the  pale  cold  sky.  It  was  Katherine 
who  spoke — 

"  Hilda  told  me  of  your  kindness  yesterday.  It 
touched  her  very  much." 

In  some  subtle  way  it  irritated  Odd  to  hear 
Katherine  vouch  for  Hilda's  feeling. 

"And  Hilda  told  you  that  I  had  been  admitted 
into  the  mystery  of  the  Archinard  family  ?  "  His 
voice  was  even  enough,  but  it  held  a  certain  keen- 
ness that  Katherine  was  quick  to  recognize. 

"  You  don't  think  their  mystery  creditable,  do 
you?  Nor  do  I,  Peter.  But  mamma  knows  nothing 
of  it,  nor  papa  ;  and  I  have  tried  to  dissuade  Hilda 
from  the  first." 

"  My  dear  Katherine,  the  child  has  worked  like 
a  galley-slave  for  you  all !  Your  necessities  were 
more  potent  facts  than  your  dissuasions,  I  fancy  !  " 

Katherine  gave  a  look  at  the  fine  severity  of  the 
profile  beside  her.  She  felt  herself  arraigned,  and 
her  impulse  was  towards  rebellion.  However,  her 
voice  was  gentle,  submissive  even,  as  she  answered 
him — 

"  I  know  it  must  look  badly  to  you — cruel  even. 
But,  Peter,  don't  you  know — you  do  know— how 
things  grow  around  one?  One  can  hardly  tell 
where  the  definite  wrongdoing  comes  in,  or  rather 
the  definite  submission  to  a  wrong  situation."  '  This 
172 


HILDA 

was  so  true,  that  Katherine  felt  immediately  the 
mollified  quality  of  his  voice  as  he  answered — 

"  I  know.  I  know  submission  was  forced  upon 
you,  no  doubt.  But  I  had  rather  you  had  not  sub- 
mitted when  once  the  situation  grew  definite.  And 
I  wish,  Katherine,  that  you  had  helped  her  in  mak- 
ing the  situation  easier.  Granting  that  you  could 
give  her  no  material  aid — granting  that  her  faculty 
is  good  luck — still  the  actual  burden  might  have 
been  lightened." 

Odd  paused ;  he  could  not  say  his  thoughts  out- 
right— tell  her  that  the  comparative  luxury  of  her 
life  and  her  mother's  was  outrageous,  shocking  to 
him  now  that  he  understood  its  source. 

"  It  is  part  of  Hilda's  good  luck  that  her  pleasures 
are  not  costly,  or  rather  that  she  can  herself  defray 
their  cost,"  said  Katherine  quietly.  "  She  has  al- 
ways lived  in  her  art — seemed  to  care  for  nothing 
else.  My  life  would  indeed  have  been  dreadful  had 
I  not  accepted  the  interests  that  came  into  it.  I 
have  always  felt,  too,  that  in  following  the  natural 
bent  of  my  own  character,  I  was  laying  foundations 
that  might  some  day  repay  Hilda  for  everything. 
If  she  has  friends — a  public — it  is  owing  to  me.  It 
was  I  who  persuaded  her  to  come  to  London  last 
spring.  I,  therefore,  who  assured  her  future,  in  a 
sense,  for  there  Allan  Hope  fell  in  love  with  her. 
I  have  felt  that  I  have  been  doing  my  duty,  in  my 
own  far  less  conventionally  fine  way,  but  doing  it 
nevertheless.  I  make  a  circle  for  mamma  ;  I  brighten 
her  life  and  my  own  and  Hilda's,  as  far  as  she  will 
let  me.  Certain  tools  are  necessary — Hilda  needs 
brushes  and  canvases  and  studios  ;  I,  a  few  gowns, 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

a  few  cabs,  and  a  supply  of  neat  boots  and  gloves. 
Still  the  contrast  is  uncomplimentary  to  me,  I  own ; 
but  when  Hilda  proposed  this  work  of  hers,  I  en- 
treated her  to  give  up  the  idea — I  said  we  would 
all  starve  together  rather.  She  insisted,  and  how 
can  I  interfere  ?  " 

"  I  can  understand,  Katherine,  that  everything 
you  say  is  most  convincing  to  yourself ;  I  see  the 
perfect  honesty  of  your  own  point  of  view.  But, 
my  dear  girl,  it  is  slightly  sophistical  honesty.  Hilda 
denies  herself  the  commonest  comforts  of  life,  not 
only  to  give  you  the  luxuries,  but  because  her  high 
sense  of  honor  rebels  against  spending  on  herself 
money  that  is  owed  to  others.  Don't  misunderstand 
me ;  I  don't  ask  any  such  perhaps  overstrained 
sense  of  responsibility  from  you.  You  have,  no 
doubt,  been  fully  justified  in  living  your  own  life  ; 
but  could  it  not  have  been  lived  with  a  little  less 
elegance  ?  I  am  sure  that  you  would  be  welcomed 
everywhere,  Katherine,  with  even  fewer  gowns  and 
fewer  gloves." 

Katherine  flushed  lightly ;  her  flushes  were  never 
deep,  and  always  becoming.  It  certainly  cut  her 
now  to  hear  his  almost  unconscious  implication — 
that  from  her  he  expected  a  less  perfect  sense  of 
honor  than  from  her  sister.  She  swallowed  a  certain 
wrathful  mortification  that  welled  up,  and  answered 
with  some  apparent  cheerfulness — 

"  You  don't  know  your  world,  Peter,  if  you  fancy 
that  even  Katherine  Archinard  would  be  welcome 
in  darned  and  dirty  gloves ! " 

Odd  walked  on  silently. 

"  And  might  she  not  be  forced  into  taking  some 
174 


HILDA 

girlish  distraction  ?  "  he  said  presently.  "  It  came 
out  yesterday,  with  that  astounding  air  of  excusing 
herself  she  has,  that  she  reads  to  her  mother  in  the 
evening !  Could  not  you  do  that,  Katherine,  and 
let  Hilda  profit  now  and  then  by  the  entourage  you 
have  created  for  her  ?  " 

Katherine's  flush  deepened. 

"  Mamma  does  n't  care  for  my  reading,  and  Hilda 
won't  go  out ;  she  goes  to  bed  too  early." 

"  And  then,"  Odd  continued,  ignoring  her  com- 
ment in  a  way  most  irritating  to  Katherine's  smart- 
ing susceptibility,  "  you  might  have  gone  with  her 
now  and  again  to  these  houses  where  she  teaches. 
You  would  have  stood  for  protection.  You  would 
have  seen  for  yourself  if,  in  this  drudgery,  there 
lurked  any  unpleasantness,  any  danger.  A  girl  of 
her  extreme  beauty  is — exposed  to  insult." 

Katherine  gave  him  a  stare  of  frank  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  give  way  to  unpleasant  ro- 
mancing of  that  sort !  Things  like  that  only  happen 
in  novels  of  the  silliest  sort — even  to  beauties  !  And 
Hilda  would  have  told  me.  She  tells  me  everything. 
Really,  Peter,  she  must  have  given  you  a  wrong  im- 
pression ;  she  enjoys  her  life  !  " 

"  So  she  tried  to  convince  me,"  said  Odd,  with  a 
good  deal  of  sharpness ;  "  there  was  no  hint  of  com- 
plaint, regret,  reproach,  in  Hilda's  recountal ;  don't 
imagine  it,  Katherine." 

Katherine  was  telling  herself  that  never  in  all  her 
life  had  she  experienced  so  many  rebuffs.  She  con- 
templated her  own  good  temper  with  some  amaze- 
ment ;  she  also  wondered  how  long  it  would  last. 
By  this  time  they  were  half-way  down  the  Avenue 
175 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

du  Bois  ;  the  day  was  fine  and  clear,  and  the  wintry 
trees  were  sharply  definite  against  the  sky. 

"  I  have  never  even  seen  her  in  a  well-made  gown," 
said  Odd. 

"  Hilda  scorns  the  fashion-plate  garment,  as  I  do. 
We  are  both  original  in  that  respect." 

"  Your  originality  takes  different  forms." 

"  Because  it  must  adapt  itself  to  different  condi- 
tions, Peter.  I  won't  be  scolded  about  my  dresses. 
Men  like  you  imagine  that,  because  a  woman  looks 
well,  she  must  spend  a  lot.  It  is  n't  so  with  me.  My 
dresses  last  forever,  and,  to  go  into  details,  Hilda 
by  no  means  clothes  me.  Papa  has  money — now 
and  then.  Even  Hilda  could  not  support  the  family, 
and  her  money  mainly  goes  for  mamma's  books  and 
oysters  and  hot-house  grapes.  If  she  will  not  spend 
it  on  herself,  and  if,  now  and  then,  I  accept  some  of 
it,  I  cannot  consent  to  feel  unduly  humiliated." 

There  was  a  decisiveness  in  Katherine's  tone  that 
warned  Peter  to  self-control.  Indeed  the  situation 
had  been  created  for  her.  She  had  owned  up  frankly 
to  her  distaste  for  it,  her  realization  of  its  wrong. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  ask  undue  humiliation  of  you, 
my  dear  Katherine.  Don't  think  me  such  a  prig- 
gish brute  ;  but  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  help  me  to 
put  an  end  to  this."  Katherine's  smiles  had  returned. 

"  Allan  Hope  will." 

Peter  walked  on,  looking  gloomy. 

"  You  won't  realize  that  Hilda's  life  is  the  one 
that  gives  her  the  greatest  enjoyment.  I  have  al- 
ways envied  Hilda  till  you  came;  and  even  now" 
— Katherine's  smile  was  playful — "  Allan  Hope  is 
very  nice !  Take  patience,  Peter,  till  Wednesday." 
176 


HILDA 

"  Yes  ;  we  must  wait." 

"  I  have  waited  for  so  long  !  Hilda  could  not  have 
minded  what  you  call  the  '  drudgery.'  She  had  only 
to  lift  her  finger  to  end  it." 

"  Hilda  would  not  be  the  girl  to  lift  her  finger." 

"You  appreciate  my  Hilda,  Peter;  I  am  glad." 
Katherine  gave  his  abstracted  countenance  another 
of  her  bright  contemplative  glances.  There  was 
nothing  sly  in  Katherine's  glances,  and  yet  underly- 
ing this  one  was  a  world  of  kindly,  though  very  keen 
analysis  ;  disappointment,  rebellion,  and  level-headed 
tolerance.  This  was  decidedly  not  the  man  to  be 
fitted  to  her  frame.  He  could  not  be  moulded  to  a 
clever  woman's  liking,  for  all  his  indefiniteness.  On 
certain  points  of  the  conduct  of  life,  Katherine  felt 
that  she  would  meet  an  opposition  sharply  definite. 
Katherine  understood  and  was  perfectly  tolerant  of 
criticism,  but  she  did  not  like  it ;  nor  did  she  like 
being  put  in  the  wrong.  That  Peter  now  considered 
her  very  much  in  the  wrong  was  evident.  She  was 
also  aware  that  the  sophistry  of  her  explanation  had 
deceived  herself  even  less  than  it  had  deceived  him. 
That  Hilda  spent  her  life  in  drudgery,  and  that 
she  spent  hers  in  pleasure-seeking,  were  facts  most 
palpable  to  Katherine's  very  impartial  vision.  She 
knew  she  was  wrong,  and  she  knew  that  only 
frank  avowal  would  meet  Peter's  severity  and  touch 
his  tenderness  and  humor.  If  she  heaped  shame  on 
her  own  head,  he  would  be  the  first  to  cry  out  against 
the  injustice. 

Yet  Katherine  hesitated  to  own  herself  wrong. 
She  was  not  sure  that  she  cared  to  place  her  lover 
in  the  sheltering  and  leading  attitude  of  the  Love 
12  1/7 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

in  the  "  Love  and  Life."  The  meek,  trembling  look 
of  Life  had  always  irritated  her  in  the  picture. 
Katherine  felt  herself  quite  strong  enough  to  stand 
alone,  and  felt  that  she  would  like  to  lead  in  all 
things.  It  was  with  a  deep  inner  sense  of  humilia- 
tion that  she  said — 

"  Please  don't  be  cross  with  me,  Peter.  Please 
don't  scold  me.  I  have  been  naughty — far  naugh- 
tier than  I  dreamed  of — you  have  made  me  realize 
it,  though  you  are  not  quite  just.  But  you  must 
comfort  me  for  my  own  misdoings." 

As  Katherine  went  on  she  felt  an  artistic  impul- 
siveness, almost  real,  and  which  sounded  so  real  that 
Peter  met  the  sweet  pleading  of  her  eyes  with  a 
start  of  self-disgust. 

Peter  was  very  tender-hearted,  very  sympathetic, 
very  prone  to  self-doubt.  Katherine's  look  made 
him  feel  a  very  prig  of  pompous  righteousness. 

"  Why,  Katherine  J  "  he  said,  pausing  in  his  walk. 
"  My  dear  Katherine  !  as  if  I  could  not  appreciate 
the  slow  growth  of  necessity  !  I  only  hope  you 
may  never  have  to  comfort  me  for  far  worse  sins !  " 

This  was  satisfactory.  But  Katherine's  pride  still 
squirmed. 

Odd  went  to  meet  Hilda  on  Thursday,  Saturday, 
Monday,  and  Tuesday.  The  distances  were  always 
great,  and  he  insisted  on  cabs  for  the  return  trip. 
Palamon  must  be  tired,  even  if  Hilda  were  not. 
He  was  too  old  for  such  journeyings ;  and  Hilda 
had  smilingly  to  submit.  Wednesday  would  end  it 
all  definitely ;  Peter  thought  that  he  saw  the  end 
with  unmixed  satisfaction,  and  yet  when  Allan 
Hope  walked  into  his  rooms  early  on  Wednesday 
178 


HILDA 

morning,  this  Perseus  of  Hilda's  womanhood  gave 
the  Perseus  of  her  childhood  a  really  unpleasant 
turn  of  the  blood.  There  was  something  irritating 
in  Allan  Hope's  absolute  fitness  for  the  rdle,  em- 
phasizing, as  it  did,  Peter's  own  unfitness,  his  forty 
years,  and  his  desultory  life. 

Active  energy,  the  go-ahead  perseverance  that 
knows  no  doubts,  the  honest  and  loyal  convictions 
which  were  all  arranged  for  him  from  his  cradle, 
and  which  he  would  bequeath  to  his  children  un- 
altered, all  things  that  make  for  order  and  well- 
being,  looked  at  one  from  Lord  Allan's  clear,  light 
eyes.  Odd  suddenly  felt  himself  to  be  an  uncertain 
cumberer  of  the  earth  ;  failure  personified  beside 
the  other's  air  of  inevitable  success.  He  was  fond 
of  Hope  and  Hope  fond  of  him,  and  they  talked  as 
old  friends  talk,  with  the  intimacy  that  time  brings ; 
an  intimacy  far  removed  from  the  strong  knittings 
of  sympathy  that  an  hour  may  accomplish;  for, 
though  Odd  understood  Allan  very  well,  Allan  did 
not  muddle  his  direct  views  of  things  by  a  com- 
prehension that  implied  condonation.  He  thought 
it  rather  a  pity  that  Odd  had  not  made  more  of  his 
life.  Odd's  books  were  n't  much  good  that  he  could 
see;  better  do  something  than  write  about  the 
things  other  men  have  done.  Odd  felt  that  Allan 
was  probably  quite  right.  They  hardly  spoke  of 
Hilda,  but  in  Hope's  congratulations  on  Peter's  en- 
gagement there  was  a  ring  of  heartfelt  brotherly 
warmth  that  implied  much,  and  left  Peter  in  a 
gloomy  rage  with  himself  for  feeling  miserable. 
Peter  had  not  analyzed  the  darks  and  glooms  of  the 
last  few  days. 

179 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

Growth  does  not  admit  of  much  self-contempla- 
tion. One  wakes  suddenly  to  the  accomplished 
change.  If  Peter  was  conscious  of  developments, 
he  defined  them  as  morbid  enlargements  of  that 
self-doubt  which  would  naturally  thrill  under  the 
stress  of  new  responsibilities. 

Only  from  the  force  of  newly  formed  habit  did 
he  go  to  the  Rue  Poulletier  that  afternoon,  hardly 
expecting  to  meet  Hilda.  But  Hilda  had,  as  yet, 
not  interrupted  her  usual  avocations.  She  emerged 
from  the  gloomy  portals  of  one  of  the  old  disman- 
tled-looking  hdtels  that  line  the  Rue  Poulletier  with 
a  certain  dignity,  and  she  looked  toward  the  cor- 
ner where  he  stood  with  a  confident  glance.  It  was 
the  second  time  he  had  met  her  there,  twice  in  the 
Rue  d'Assas  too. 

"  It  is  so  kind  of  you,"  she  said,  as  she  joined  him 
and  they  turned  into  the  quai ;  "  only  you  must  n't 
think  that  you  must,  you  know." 

"  May  I  think  that  I  must  ?  Give  me  the  assur- 
ance of  necessity.  I  am  always  a  little  afraid  of 
seeming  officious." 

Hilda  smiled  round  at  him. 

"  Who  is  fishing?  You  know  I  love  to  have  you 
come.  You  can't  think  how  I  look  forward  to  it." 
She  was  walking  beside  him  along  the  quai.  The 
unobtrusive  squareness  of  the  "  Doric  little  Morgue  " 
was  on  their  left,  as  they  faced  the  keen  wind  and 
the  dying  sunset.  Notre  Dame  stood  gray  upon 
a  chilly  evening  sky  of  palest  yellow.  "  I  know 
now  that  I  was  lonely." 

"  That  implies  the  kindest  compliment." 

"  More  than  implies,  I  hope." 
1 80 


HILDA 

"You  really  like  to  have  me  come?" 

"  You  know  I  do.  I  am  only  afraid  that  you  will 
rob  yourself — of  other  things  for  me." 

The  candor  of  her  eyes  was  childlike. 

"  My  little  friend."  Odd  felt  that  he  could  not 
quite  trust  himself,  and  took  refuge  in  the  con- 
venient assertion. 

The  cold,  clear  wind  blew  against  their  faces;  it 
ruffled  the  water,  and  the  gray  waves  showed  sharp 
steely  lights.  The  leafless  trees  made  an  arabesque 
of  tracery  on  the  river  and  the  sky.  Hilda  looked 
up  at  the  kind,  melancholy  face  beside  her,  a 
faint  touch  of  cynicism  in  her  sad  smile  ;  but  the 
cynicism  was  all  for  herself,  and  it  was  not  exces- 
sive. She  accepted  this  renaissance  gratefully, 
though  the  disillusions  of  the  past  were  unforget- 
able. 

"  Tell  me,  Hilda,  that  you  will  be  my  friend  what- 
ever happens — to  you  or  to  me." 

"  I  have  always  been  your  friend,  have  I  not  ?  " 

"  Have  you,  Hilda,  always  ?  " 

"  I  am  dully  faithful."  Hilda's  smile  was  a  little 
baffling  ;  it  gave  no  warrant  for  the  sudden  quick- 
ening of  the  breath  that  he  had  experienced  more 
than  once  of  late. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  found  you,  Hilda." 

"  Did  you  look  for  me,  then  ?  " 

The  smile  was  now  decidedly  baffling  and  yet 
very  sweet. 

"  You  know,"  she  added,  '"  I  liked  you  from  that 
first  moment  when  you  fished  me  out  of  the  river. 
It  seems   that    you    are    fated   to   act   always   the 
chivalrous  part  toward  me." 
181 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  I  would  ask  no  better  fate.  Hilda,  you  have 
seen  Allan  Hope  ?  Not  yet  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  yet."  Hilda's  face  grew  serious. 
"  He  is  coming  to  tea  this  afternoon." 

"  But  you  must  be  there." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  must."  This  affectation  of 
girlish  indifference  seemed  to  Odd  more  significant 
than  noticeable  shyness. 

"  We  must  take  a  cab,"  he  said,  trying  to  keep 
his  voice  level. 

"  Oh,  it  makes  no  difference.  Cabs,  you  see,  are 
never  reckoned  with  in  my  arrivals.  I  am  warranted 
to  be  late." 

"  But  you  must  not  be  late." 

"  But  if  I  want  to  ?  "  There  was  certainly  a  touch 
of  roguery  in  her  eyes. 

"  If  you  want  to  and  if  I  want  you  to,  it  shows 
that  you  are  cruel  and  I  conscienceless.  Here  is  a 
cab.  Away  with  you,  Hilda.  Au  revoir." 

"  Are  n't  you  coming  too  ?  "  asked  Hilda,  pausing 
in  the  act  of  lifting  Palamon. 

"  Not  to-day ;  I  can't."  Odd  knew  that  he  was 
cowardly.  "  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  ?  I  suppose 
not." 

"Why,  yes,  if  you  come  to  the  Boulevard  St. 
Germain."  Hilda  had  deposited  Palamon  on  the 
floor  of  the  cab  and  still  stood  by  the  open  door 
looking  rather  dismayed. 

"  Really ! " 

"  I  shall  go  there." 

"  I  too,  then.  Remember  our  vow  of  friendship, 
Hilda.  I  wish  you  everything  that  is  good  and 
happy." 

182 


HILDA 

There  was  seemingly  a  slightly  hurt  look  on  Hil- 
da's face  as  she  drove  away.  In  spite  of  the  vow, 
Peter  feared  that  this  was  the  last  of  Hilda,  of  even 
this  rather  shadowy  second  edition  of  friendship. 

He  had  done  his  duty  ;  to  hurt  oneself  badly  seems 
a  surety  of  having  done  one's  duty  thoroughly. 
183 


CHAPTER  VI 

HILDA  drove  home,  with  Palamon  leaning  his 
warm  body  against  her  feet  as  he  sat  on  the 
floor  of  the  cab.  She  put  out  her  hand  now  and 
then  and  laid  it  on  his  head,  but  absently.  She 
leaned  back  presently  and  closed  her  eyes,  only 
rousing  herself  with  a  little  start  when  the  cab  drew 
up  with  a  jerk  in  the  Rue  Pierre  Charron.  Palamon 
stood  dully  on  the  pavement  while  she  spoke  to  the 
cabman — but  the  monsieur  had  paid  him,  as  Hilda 
had  forgotten  for  the  moment.  Palamon  was  evi- 
dently tired  too,  and  with  a  little  turn  of  dread  she 
wondered  if  the  time  would  come  when  she  must 
leave  Palamon  to  a  lonely  day  in  the  apartment. 
Mrs.  Archinard  did  not  like  dogs  near  her.  Kathe- 
rine  was  always  out,  and  although  Rosalie  the  cook 
was  devoted  to  the  tou-tou,  Hilda  would  miss  him 
terribly  and  he  would  miss  her. 

She  said  to  herself  that  if  it  came  to  that  she 
would  allow  herself  a  daily  cab-fare  rather  than 
leave  Palamon,  and  she  toiled  up  the  steep  stairs 
carrying  him.  Taylor  opened  the  door  to  her. 

"  Give  me  the  dog,  Miss  Hilda  ;  you  do  look  that 
tired.  You  are  to  go  at  once  into  the  drawing-room, 
Miss.  Lord  Allan  Hope  has  been  waiting  for  some 
time." 

Hilda  was  surprised  to  find  that  she  had  been 
184 


HILDA 

thinking  of  Palamon  rather  than  of  the  ordeal  before 
her.  She  felt  calm  now,  perfectly,  as  she  walked 
into  the  drawing-room,  a  little  taken  aback,  however, 
to  find  Lord  Allan  there  waiting  for  her  and  alone. 

Katherine  was  in  the  next  room,  her  own  pretty 
room,  a  rather  perplexed  smile  of  expectancy  on  her 
face.  Taylor  brought  in  Palamon,  and  Katherine 
gave  him  a  drink  and  patted  him  kindly.  Palamon 
would  go  with  Hilda  to  her  new  home — dear  old 
Palamon  !  The  thought  of  Hilda's  new  home  and 
homes — of  the  castle  in  Somersetshire  and  the 
shooting-lodge  in  Scotland,  and  the  big  house  in 
Grosvenor  Square,  deepened  the  look  of  perplexity 
on  Katherine's  brow. 

While  Palamon  lapped  the  water,  she  watched  him 
with  an  expression  of  absent-minded 'concentration. 
She  could  hear  nothing  in  the  drawing-room,  except 
now  and  then  the  slightly  raised  quiet  of  Allan 
Hope's  fine  voice.  Presently  there  was  a  long 
silence,  and  Katherine  paused  near  the  door. 

The  quizzical  lift  of  her  eyebrows  spoke  her 
amused  inquiry.  She  could  hardly  imagine  Hilda 
allowing  herself  to  be  kissed,  and  as  the  silence  con- 
tinued, Katherine  felt  a  touch  of  impatience  color 
her  sisterly  sympathy.  Lord  Allan's  voice,  pitched 
on  a  deep  note  of  pain,  startled  her.  There  followed 
quite  a  burst  of  ardent  eloquence.  With  a  little 
moue  of  self-disapproval  Katherine  bent  her  ear  to 
the  door.  She  heard  Lord  Allan  quite  distinctly. 
He  was  pleading  in  more  desperate  accents  than  she 
could  have  imagined  possible  from  him,  and  Kathe- 
rine caught,  too,  the  half  frightened  reiteration  of 
Hilda's  voice  :  "  I  can't,  I  can't ;  really  I  can't.  I 
185 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

am  so — so  sorry,  so  sorry — "  The  childishness  of 
this  helpless  repetition  brought  a  quick  frown  to 
Katherine's  brow. 

"  Little  idiot !     Baby  !  " 

She  straightened  herself  and  stood  staring  at  the 
gray  houses  across  the  way.  Then,  at  renewed 
silence  in  the  drawing-room,  she  walked  to  the  mirror 
and  looked  at  her  amethyst-robed  reflection. 

Her  eyes  lingered  on  the  contour  of  her  waist,  the 
supple  elegance  of  the  line  that  fell  gleaming  from 
her  hip.  She  met  the  half-shamed,  half-daring 
glance  of  her  deeply  set  eyes.  The  silence  contin- 
ued, and  Katherine  walked  out  through  the  entrance 
and  into  the  drawing-room. 

Hilda  was  sitting  upright  on  a  tall  chair,  looking 
at  the  floor  with  an  expression  of  painful  endurance, 
and  Lord  Allan  stood  looking  at  her. 

He  turned  his  eyes  almost  unseeingly  on  Kathe- 
rine and  remained  silent,  while  Hilda  rose  and  put 
out  her  hand  to  him.  Hilda  had  no  variety  of 
metaphor ;  "  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  repeated. 

She  left  her  hand  in  his  for  one  moment  and  then 
passed  swiftly  out  of  the  room.  Katherine  was  left 
facing  the  unfortunate  lover.  Katherine  showed 
great  tact. 

"  Lord  Allan,  don't  mind  me.  Sit  down  for  a 
moment.  Perhaps  then  you  may  be  able  to  tell 
me.  Perhaps  I  can  help  you." 

"  No  good,  Miss  Archinard  ;  it 's  all  up  with  me." 

Her  gentle  voice  evidently  turned  aside  the 
current  of  his  frank  despair.  Instead  of  rushing  out, 
he  dropped  on  the  sofa  and  looked  at  the  carpet 
over  his  locked  hands. 

1 86 


HILDA 

"  I  am  not  going  to  talk  to  you  for  a  little  while." 

The  lamps  were  lighted  and  the  tea-things  all  in 
readiness  on  the  little  table.  Katherine  lit  the  kettle 
and  turned  a  log  on  the  fire.  Lord  Allan's  silence 
implied  a  dull  acquiescence.  He  did  not  move 
until  Katherine  came  and  sat  down  on  the  chair 
beside  him. 

"  7  am  so  sorry,  too,"  she  said,  with  a  sad  little 
smile.  "  Lord  Allan,  I  thought  she  cared  for  you." 

"  I  hoped  so." 

"  And  have  you  no  more  hope?" 

"  None — absolutely  none.  I  tell  you  it 's  rough 
on  a  fellow,  Miss  Archinard.  I — I  adore  that 
child." 

"  Poor  Lord  Allan,"  Katherine  gently  breathed. 
She  stretched  out  her  slim  hand  and  laid  it  almost 
tenderly  on  his.  Katherine  was  rather  surprised 
at  herself,  and  to  herself  her  motives  were  rather 
confused.  "  I  should  have  liked  you  as  a  brother, 
Lord  Allan." 

"  You  are  awfully  kind."  He  lifted  his  dreary 
eyes  and  surveyed  her  absently,  but  with  some 
gratitude.  "  I  suppose  I  had  best  be  going,"  he 
added  suddenly,  as  if  struck  by  the  anti-climax  of 
his  position. 

"  No,  no ;  not  unless  you  feel  you  must." 
Katherine  put  out  her  hand  again  and  detained  his 
rising.  "  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  you  going  out 
alone  like  that  into  the  cold.  Just  wait.  You  are 
bruised.  Get  back  your  breath.  I  am  not  going 
to  be  tiresome." 

Lord  Allan  leaned  back  in  the  sofa  with  a  long 
sigh,  relapsing  into  the  same  half  stunned  silence, 
187 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

while  Katharine  moved  about  the  tea-table,  meas- 
uring out  the  tea  from  the  caddy  to  the  teapot, 
pouring  on  the  boiling  water,  and  pausing  to  wait 
for  the  tea  to  steep.  Presently  Lord  Allan  was 
startled  by  a  proffered  steaming  cup. 

"Will  you?"  she  said.  "  I  made  it  for  you.  It 
is  such  a  chilly  evening." 

"  Oh,  how  awfully  kind  of  you,"  he  started  from 
his  crushed  recumbency  of  attitude,  "  but  you 
know  I  really  can't !  "  But  at  the  grieved  gentle- 
ness of  ^Catherine's  eyes  he  took  the  cup.  "  It  is 
too  awfully  kind  of  you.  I  do  feel  abominably 
chilly."  He  gulped  down  the  tea,  and  gave  a  half 
shame-faced  smile  as  she  took  the  cup  for  replen- 
ishment. 

"  No,  don't  get  up,"  she  urged,  as  he  made  an 
effort  to  collect  his  courtesy  ;  "  let  me  wait  on  you," 
and  she  returned  with  a  discreetly  tempting  plate  of 
the  thinnest  bread  and  butter.  She  sat  down  be- 
side him  again,  looking  into  the  fire  with  kind,  sad 
eyes  as  she  stirred  her  tea.  She  asked  him  pres- 
ently, in  the  same  quietly  gentle  voice,  some  little 
question  about  the  most  recent  debate  in  the 
House.  Lord  Allan  had  rather  distinguished  him- 
self in  that  debate  ;  it  was  on  the  crest  of  that 
wave  of  triumph  that  he  had  come  to  Hilda.  From 
monosyllabic  replies  he  was  led  on  to  a  rather  dole- 
ful recitation  of  his  own  prowess  ;  it  seemed  that 
Katherine  had  followed  it  all  in  the  newspapers,  so 
tactfully  intelligent  were  her  comments.  He  found 
himself  sipping  his  third  cup  of  tea,  enjoying  in  a 
dreary  way  the  expounding  of  his  favorite  political 
theories  to  the  quiet,  purple-robed  figure  beside 
1 88 


HILDA 

him.  He  remembered  that  Miss  Archinard  had 
always  been  interested  in  his  career ;  she,  of  course, 
was  the  intellectual  one,  though  Hilda's  beauty 
sent  a  sharp  stab  of  pain  through  him  as  he  made 
the  comparison  ;  he  appreciated  now  Miss  Archi- 
nard's  kindness  and  sympathy  with  a  brotherly 
warmth  of  gratitude.  When  he  at  last  rose  to  go, 
he  was  dejected ;  but  no  longer  the  crushed  indi- 
vidual of  an  hour  before. 

"  You  have  been  too  good  to  a  beaten  man,"  he 
said,  taking  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  Lord  Allan,  by  the  laws  of  compensation 
you  must  lose  sometimes.  Hilda,  poor  child,  does  n't 
know  what  she  has  done ;  she  cannot  know.  Her 
little  achievements  bound  the  world  for  her.  She 
does  n't  see  outside  her  studio  walls.  Your  great 
world  of  action,  true  beneficent  action,  would  stun 
her.  Do  you  leave  Paris  directly,  Lord  Allan  ? 
Yes  !  Then  won't  you  write  to  me  now  and  then  ? 
I  am  interested  in  you.  I  won't  relinquish  the  claim 
of  '  it  might  have  been.'  May  I  keep  in  touch  with 
you — as  a  sister  would  ?  " 

"  You  are  too  good,  Miss  Archinard." 

"  To  an  old  friend  ?  A  man  I  have  followed  and 
admired  as  I  have  you  ?  Lord  Allan,  I  respect  you 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  the  way  in  which 
you  have  borne  this  knock-down  from  fate.  You 
are  strong,  it  won't  hurt  you  in  the  end.  Let  me 
know  how  you  get  on." 

Katherine's  eyes  were  compelling  in  their  candid 

kindness.      Lord  Allan   said   that  he  would,  with 

emphasis.     As   he   went    down  the  long  staircase, 

the  purple-robed  figure  filled  his  thoughts  with  a 

189 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

reviving  beneficence.  He  felt  that  the  blow  was 
perhaps  not  so  bad  as  he  had  imagined — might  even 
be  for  the  best ;  better  for  him,  for  his  career. 
Katherine's  words  enveloped  him  in  an  atmosphere 
that  was  soothing. 

Left  alone,  Katherine  finished  her  second  cup  of 
tea,  and  made,  as  she  looked  thoughtfully  into  the 
fire,  a  second  little  moue  of  self-disapprobation. 
190 


CHAPTER  VII 

ODD,  as  usual,  found  Katharine  in  the  drawing- 
room  when  he  called  next  morning.  The 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Archinard  had  assumed  almost  the 
aspect  of  illusions  of  late  ;  for  the  regularity  of  his 
daily  routine — the  morning  spent  with  Katherine, 
and  the  afternoon  with  Hilda — excluded  the  hours 
of  their  appearance,  and  Odd  was  rather  glad  of  the 
discovered  immunity. 

Katherine  was  reading  beside  the  fire,  one  slim 
sole  tilted  towards  the  blaze,  and  she  looked  round 
at  Odd  as  he  came  in,  without  moving.  Odd's  face 
wore  a  curiously  strained  expression,  and,  under  it, 
seemed  thinner,  older  than  usual.  He  looked  even 
haggard,  Katherine  thought.  She  liked  his  thin 
face.  It  satisfied  perfectly  her  sense  of  fitness,  as 
Odd  did  indeed.  It  offered  no  stupidities,  no  pre- 
tences of  any  kind  for  mockery  to  fasten  on.  The 
clever  feminine  eye  is  quick  to  remark  the  subtlest 
signs  of  fatuity  or  complacency.  Katherine's  eye 
was  very  clever,  and  this  morning,  in  looking  at 
Odd,  she  was  conscious  of  a  little  inner  sigh.  Kath- 
erine had  asked  herself  more  than  once  of  late 
whether  a  husband,  not  only  too  superior  for  suc- 
cess, but  morally  her  superior,  might  not  make  life 
a  little  wearing.  Some  such  thought  crossed  her 
mind  now  as  she  met  his  eyes,  and  she  realized  that 
191 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

through  Allan  Hope's  discomfiture  she  herself  was 
as  wrongly  placed  as  ever,  and  Hilda's  drudgery  as 
binding. 

Indeed,  several  thoughts  mingled  with  that  gen- 
eral sense  of  malaise. 

One  was  that  Allan  Hope's  smooth,  handsome 
face  was  rather  fatuous ;  the  face  that  knows  no 
doubts  is  in  danger  of  seeming  fatuous  to  a  Kath- 
erine. 

Another  thought  held  a  keen  conjecture  on 
Peter's  haggard  looks. 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  him,  and,  stooping  over 
her,  he  kissed  her  with  more  tenderness  than  he 
always  showed.  Their  engagement  had  left  almost 
untouched  the  easy  unsentimental  attitude  of  earlier 
days. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  and  Katherine  understood  and 
resented  somewhat  the  quick  attack  of  the  absorb- 
ing subject.  She  shook  her  head. 

"  Bad  news,  Peter.     Bad  and  very  unexpected." 

Odd  stood  upright  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Bad  !  "  he  repeated. 

"  She  refused  him,"  Katherine  said  tersely,  and 
her  glance  turned  once  more  from  the  fire  to  Peter's 
face.  He  looked  at  her  silently. 

"  She  is  a  foolish  baby,"  added  Katherine. 

"  She  refused  him — definitely  ?  " 

"  Quite.  She  had  to  face  the  music  last  night,  of 
course.  Mamma  and  papa  were  rather — shabby — 
let  us  say,  in  their  disinterested  disappointment." 
Odd  flushed  a  little  at  the  cool  cynicism  of  Kath- 
erine's  tone.  "  She  told  me,  when  I  removed  her 
from  the  battlefield,  that  she  does  n't  love  him 
192 


HILDA 

and  never  will.  So,  of  course,  from  every  high  and 
mighty  point  of  view  she  is  right,  quite  right." 

Katherine's  eyes  returned  contemplatively  to  the 
fire.  Odd  was  still  silent. 

"  She  ought  to  love  him,  of  course  ;  that  is  where 
she  is  so  foolish.  I  am  afraid  she  has  ruined  her 
life.  I  love  you,  Peter,  and  he  is  every  bit  as  good- 
looking  as  you  are."  Katherine  glanced  at  him  with 
a  sad  and  whimsical  smile.  Peter,  certainly,  was 
looking  rather  dazed.  He  stooped  once  more  and 
kissed  her. 

"  Thank  you  for  loving  me,  Katherine." 

"  You  are  welcome.     It  is  a  pity,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  " — Peter  seated  himself  on  the  sofa, 
where  Allan  had  sat  the  night  before — "  an  awful 
pity,"  he  added.  "  Tarn  astonished.  I  thought  she 
cared  for  him." 

"So  did  I." 

"She  cares  for  some  one  else,  perhaps."  Odd 
locked  his  hands  behind  his  head,  and  he  too  stared 
at  the  fire. 

"  There  is  no  one  else  she  could  care  for.  I  know 
Hilda's  outlook  too  well." 

"  And  she  refused  him,"  he  repeated  musingly. 

"  Really,  Peter,  that  sounds  a  little  dull— not  like 
you."  Katherine  smiled  at  him. 

"  I  feel  dulled.  I  am  awfully  sorry.  It  would 
have  been  so  satisfactory.  And  what 's  to  be  done 
now  ?  " 

"  That  is  for  you  to  suggest,  Peter.  My  power 
over  Hilda  is  very  limited.  You  may  have  more 
influence." 

"  She  might  come  and  live  with  us." 

13  193 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  Katherine  assented, 
"  and  it  is  very  dear  of  you  to  suggest  it." 

Peter  was  conscious  of  sudden  terrors  that  prompt- 
ed him  to  add  with  self-scorn — 

"  What  would  your  mother  do?" 

"  Without  her?     I  don't  know." 

"  Of  course,"  Peter  hastened  to  add,  "  as  far  as 
money  goes,  you  know ;  you  understand,  dear,  that 
your  mother  shall  want  nothing.  But  to  rob  her 
of  the  companionship  of  both  daughters?"  Peter 
rose  and  walked  to  the  window.  It  needed  some 
heroism,  he  thought,  to  put  aside  the  idea  of  Hilda 
living  with  them  ;  he  tried  to  pride  himself  on  the 
renunciation,  while  under  the  poor  crust  of  self- 
approbation  lurked  jibing  depths  of  consciousness. 
Heroism  would  not  lie  in  renunciation,  but  in  living 
with  her.  The  cowardice  of  his  own  retreat  left 
him  horribly  shaken. 

Katherine  watched  him  from  her  chair,  calmly. 

"But  Hilda's  work  must  cease  at  once,"  he 
said  presently,  finding  a  certain  relief  in  decisive 
measures.  "  She  won't  show  any  false  pride,  I  hope, 
about  allowing  me  to  put  an  end  to  it." 

"  It  would  be  like  her,"  said  Katherine,  sliding 
a  sympathetic  gloom  of  voice  over  the  hard  reality 
of  her  conclusions ;  conclusions  half  angry,  half 
sarcastic.  Peter  was  dull  after  all.  Katherine  felt 
alarmed,  humiliated,  and  amused,  but  she  steeled 
herself  inwardly  to  a  calm  contemplation  of  facts. 
She  joined  him  at  the  window.  "  What  a  burden 
you  have  taken  on  your  poor  shoulders,  Peter." 
Peter  immediately  put  his  arm  around  her  waist, 
and,  though  Katherine  felt  a  deeper  humiliation, 
194 


HILDA 

she  saw  that  alarm  was  needless ;  a  proof  of  Peter's 
superiority,  a  proof,  too,  of  his  stupidity  ;  as  her 
own  most  original  and  clever  superiority  was  proved 
by  the  fact  of  her  calm  under  humiliation.  Could 
she  accept  that  humiliation  as  the  bitter  drop  in 
the  cup  of  good  things  Peter  had  to  offer  her? 
Katherine  asked  herself  the  question  ;  it  was  an- 
swered by  another.  Just  how  far  did  the  humilia- 
tion go  ?  Peter's  infidelity  might  be  mere  shal- 
low passion,  passagtre ;  the  fine  part  might  be  to 
feign  blindness  and  help  him  out  of  it.  Attentions 
summed  up  Katherine's  mental  attitude  at  the 
moment. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  burdens,  dear  Katherine," 
said  Peter.  "  Don't  try  to  spoil  my  humble  little 
pleasure.  If  I  can  make  you  and  yours  happier, 
what  more  can  I  ask  ? "  He  looked  at  her  with 
kind,  tired  eyes. 

"  I  won't  thwart  you,  but  Hilda  will." 

"  Hilda  will  find  it  difficult  when  we  are  married. 
That  must  be  soon,  Katherine." 

Katherine  looked  pensively  out  of  the  window. 

"  We  will  see,"  she  replied,  with  a  pretty  evasive- 
ness. 

It  was  fine  and  cold  as  Odd  walked  down  the 
Boulevard  St.  Germain  that  afternoon.  He  walked 
at  a  tremendous  pace,  for  human  nature  hopes  to 
cheat  thought  by  physical  effort.  Indeed,  Peter  did 
not  think  much,  and  was  convinced  that  his  mind 
was  a  comparatively  happy  blank  as  he  paused 
before  the  tall  house  where  Hilda  was  pursuing  her 
avocations.  If  he  made  any  definite  reflections 
while  he  walked  up  and  down  between  the  doorway 
195 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

and  the  next  corner,  they  were  on  his  last  few  con- 
versations with  Hilda;  and  then  on  rather  abstract 
points  merely.  He  had  drawn  the  child  out.  He 
had  penetrated  the  reserved  mind  that  acquired 
for  enjoyment,  not  for  display.  He  had  found  out 
that  Hilda  knew  Italian  literature,  from  Dante  to 
Leopardi,  almost  as  well  as  he  himself  did,  and  loved 
it  just  as  well.  The  fiction  of  Russia  and  Scandi- 
navia was  deeply  appreciated  by  her,  and  the  essay- 
ists of  France.  Her  tastes  were  as  delicately  dis- 
criminative as  Katherine's,  but  lacked  that  metallic 
assurance  of  which  lately  Peter  had  become  rather 
uncomfortably  aware.  As  for  the  English  tongue, 
from  the  old  meeting-ground  of  Chaucer  they  could 
range  with  delightful  sympathy  to  Stevenson's  sweet 
radiance. 

Peter  thought  quite  intently  of  this  literary  survey 
and  evaded  any  trespassing  beyond  its  limits.  His 
reticence  was  not  put  to  a  prolonged  test.  Hilda 
met  him  before  half-a-dozen  trips  to  the  corner  were 
accomplished.  She  showed  no  signs  of  conscious 
guilt,  though  Peter  was  not  sure  that  she  was  not  a 
"  foolish  baby." 

"  Let  us  walk,"  she  said,  "  it  is  such  a  lovely  day." 

"  We  will  walk  at  least  till  the  sun  goes.  We 
will  just  have  time  to  catch  the  sunset  on  the  Seine." 

"  Yes  ;  what  a  lovely  day  !  I  wish  I  were  ten,  with 
short  skirts,  and  a  hoop,  that  I  could  run  and  roll." 

"  You  would  like  a  bicycle  ride.  Come  to-morrow 
with  Katherine  and  me." 

"  I  can't.       Don't  think  me  a  prig,  but  my  model 
is  due  and  I  am  finishing  my  picture.     Thanks  so 
much ;  and  this  walk  is  almost  as  good." 
196 


HILDA 

"  If  Palamon  is  tired  I  will  carry  him,  Hilda." 

"  Oh,  he  is  n't  tired.  See  how  he  pulls  at  his 
cord.  The  sunlight  is  getting  into  his  veins.  What 
delicious  air." 

"The  sunlight  is  getting  into  your  veins  too, 
Hilda.  You  are  looking  a  little  as  you  should  look." 

Hilda  did  not  ask  him  how  she  should  look.  It 
was  an  original  characteristic  of  Hilda's  that  she 
did  not  seem  at  all  anxious  to  talk  about  herself, 
and  Odd  continued,  looking  down  at  her  profile — 

"  That 's  what  you  ought  to  have — sunlight.  You 
are  a  little  white  flower  that  has  grown  in  a  shadow." 
Hilda  did  not  glance  up  at  him ;  she  smiled  rather 
distantly. 

"  What  a  sad  simile !  " 

"  Is  it  a  true  one,  Hilda  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  never  thought  of  myself  in 
that  sentimental  light.  I  suppose  to  friendly  eyes 
every  life  has  a  certain  pathos." 

"  No  ;  some  lives  are  too  evidently  and  merely 
flaunting  in  the  sunlight  for  even  friendly  eyes  to 
poetize — to  sentimentalize,  as  you  rather  unkindly 
said." 

"  Sunlight  is  poetic,  too." 

"  Success  and  selfishness,  and  all  the  common- 
places that  make  up  a  happy  life,  are  not  poetic." 

"  That  is  rather  morbid,  you  know — decadent" 

"  I  don't  imply  a  fondness  for  illness  and  wrong- 
ness.  Rather  the  contrary.  It  is  a  very  beautiful 
Tightness  that  keeps  in  the  shade  to  give  others  the 
sunshine." 

Hilda's  eyes  were  downcast,  and  in  her  look  a 
certain  pale  reserve  that  implied  no  liking  for  these 
197 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

personalities — personalities  that  glanced  from  her  to 
others,  as  Odd  realized. 

He  paused,  and  it  was  only  after  quite  a  little 
silence  that  Hilda  said,  with  all  her  gentle  quiet — 

"  You  must  not  imagine  that  I  am  unhappy,  or 
that  my  life  has  been  an  unhappy  life.  It  is  very 
good  of  you  to  trouble  about  it,  but  I  can't  claim 
the  rather  self-righteously  heroic  rdle  you  give  me. 
I  think  it  is  others  who  live  in  the  shadow.  I  think 
that  any  work,  however  feebly  done,  is  a  happy 
thing.  I  find  so  much  pleasure  in  things  other 
people  don't  care  about." 

"A  very  nicely  delivered  little  snub,  Hilda.  You 
could  n't  have  told  me  to  mind  my  own  business 
more  kindly."  Odd's  humorous  look  met  her  glance 
of  astonished  self-reproach.  He  hastened  on,  "  Will 
you  try  to  find  pleasure  in  a  thing  most  girls  do  care 
for  ?  Will  you  go  to  the  Meltons'  dance  on  Monday  ? 
Katherine  told  me  I  must  go,  this  morning,  and  I 
said  I  would  try  to  persuade  you." 

"  I  didrit  mean  to  snub  you." 

"  Very  well ;  convince  me  of  it  by  saying  you  will 
come  to  the  dance." 

The  girlish  pleasure  of  her  face  was  evident. 

"  Do  you  really  want  me  to?" 

"  It  would  make  me  very  happy." 

"  It  is  against  my  rules,  you  know.  I  can't  get 
up  at  six  and  go  out  in  the  evening  besides.  But  I 
will  make  an  exception  for  this  once,  to  show  you  I 
was  n't  snubbing  you  !  And,  besides,  I  should  love 
to."  The  gayety  of  her  look  suddenly  fell  to  hesi- 
tation. "  Only  I  am  afraid  I  can't.  I  remember  I 
have  n't  any  dress." 

198 


HILDA 

"  Any  dress  will  do,  Hilda." 

"  But  I  have  n't  any  dress.  The  gray  silk  is  im- 
possible." 

Peter's  mind  made  a  most  unmasculine  excursion 
into  the  position. 

"  But  you  were  in  London  last  year.  You  went 
to  court.  You  must  have  had  dresses." 

"  Yes,  but  I  gave  them  to  Katherine  when  I  came 
back.  I  had  no  need  for  them.  Her  own  wore 
out,  and  mine  fit  her  very  well — a  little  too  long 
and  narrow,  but  that  was  easily  altered.  Perhaps 
the  white  satin  would  do,  if  it  was  n't  cut  at  the 
bottom  ;  it  could  be  let  down  again,  if  it  was  only 
turned  up.  It  is  trimmed  with  mousseline  de  sou, 
and  the  flounce  would  hide  the  line." 

Peter  stared  at  her  look  of  thoughtful  perplexity ; 
he  found  it  horribly  touching.  "  It  might  do." 

"  It  must  do.  If  it  does  n't,  another  of  Kath- 
erine's  can  be  metamorphosized." 

"  And  you  will  dance  with  me  ?  I  love  dancing, 
and  I  don't  know  many  people.  Of  course  Kath- 
erine will  see  that  I  am  not  neglected,  but  I  should 
like  to  depend  on  you  ;  and  if  I  am  left  sitting  alone 
in  a  corner,  I  shall  beckon  to  you.  Will  you  be 
responsible  for  me  ?  "  Her  smiling  eyes  met  the 
badly  controlled  emotion  of  his  look. 

"  Hilda,  you  are  quite  frivolous."  Terms  of  reck- 
less endearment  were  on  his  lips;  he  hardly  knew 
how  he  kept  them  down.  "  How  shall  I  manoeuvre 
that  you  be  left  sitting  alone  in  corners  ?  Re- 
member that  if  the  miracle  occurs  I  shall  come, 
whether  you  beckon  or  no." 


199 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ODD  was  subtly  glad  of  a  cold  that  kept  him  in 
bed  and  indoors  for  several  days.  He  wrote 
of  his  sorry  plight  to  Katherine,  and  said  he  would 
see  her  at  the  Meltons'  on  Monday.  Hilda  was  to 
come ;  that  had  been  decided  on  the  very  evening 
of  their  last  walk.  He  had  been  a  witness  of  the 
merry  colloquy  over  the  lengthened  dress,  a  colloquy 
that  might,  Odd  felt,  have  held  an  embarrassing 
consciousness  for  Katherine  had  she  not  treated  it 
with  such  whole-hearted  gayety. 

The  Archinards  had  not  yet  arrived  when  Odd 
reached  Mrs.  Melton's  apartment — one  of  the  most 
magnificent  in  the  houses  that  line  the  Avenue  du 
Bois  de  Boulogne — and  after  greeting  his  hostess, 
he  waited  for  half-an-hour  in  a  condition  of  feverish 
restlessness,  painfully  apparent  to  himself,  before 
he  saw  in  the  sparkling  distance  Katherine's  smooth 
dark  head,  the  Captain's  correctly  impassive  good 
looks,  and  Hilda's  loveliness  for  once  in  a  setting 
that  displayed  it.  Peter  thrilled  with  a  delicious 
and  ridiculous  pride  as,  with  a  susceptibility  as 
acute  as  a  fond  mother's,  he  saw — felt,  even — the 
stir,  the  ripple  of  inevitable  conquest  spread  about 
her  entry.  The  involuntary  attention  of  a  con- 
course of  people  certainly  constitutes  homage,  how- 
ever unconscious  of  aim  be  the  conqueror.  To 
200 


HILDA 

Odd,  the  admiration,  like  the  scent  of  a  bed  of  helio- 
trope in  the  turning  of  a  garden  path,  seemed  to  fill 
the  very  air  with  sudden  perfume.  "  Her  dear  little 
head,"  "  Her  lovely  little  head,"  he  was  saying  to 
himself  as  he  advanced  to  meet  her.  He  naturally 
spoke  first  to  Katherine,  and  received  her  condo- 
lences on  his  cold,  which  she  feared,  by  his  jaded 
and  feverish  air,  he  had  not  got  rid  of.  Then,  turn- 
ing to  Hilda — 

"  The  white  satin  does?  he  said,  smiling  down  at 
her.  Katherine  did  not  depend  on  beauty,  and  need 
fear  no  comparison  even  beside  her  sister.  She  was 
talking  with  her  usual  quiet  gayety  to  half-a-dozen 
people  already. 

"  See  that  Hilda,  in  her  embarrasde  choix,  does  n't 
become  too  much  embarrassed,"  she  said  to  Peter. 
"  Exercise  for  her  a  brotherly  discretion." 

The  Captain  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Melton — a  pretty 
little  woman  with  languid  airs.  She  had  lived  for 
years  in  Paris,  and  considered  herself  there  a  most 
necessary  element  of  careful  conservatism.  Her 
exclusiveness,  which  she  took  au  grand  serieux, 
highly  amused  Katherine.  Katherine  knew  her 
world ;  it  was  wider  than  Mrs.  Melton's.  She 
walked  with  a  kindly  ignoring  of  barriers,  did  not 
trouble  herself  at  all  how  people  arrived  as  long  as 
they  were  there.  She  was  as  tolerant  of  a  million- 
aire parvenu  as  might  be  a  duchess  with  a  political 
entourage  to  manipulate ;  and  she  found  Mrs. 
Melton's  anxious  social  self-satisfaction  humorous 
— a  fact  of  which  Mrs.  Melton  was  unaware,  al- 
though she,  like  other  people,  thought  Katherine 
subtly  impressive.  Mrs.  Melton  was  rather  dull 
201 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

too,  and  a  few  grievances  whispered  behind  her  fan 
in  Katherine's  ear  en  passant — for  subject,  the  un- 
fortunate and  eternal  nouveau  riche — made  pleasant 
gravity  difficult ;  but  Katherine  did  not  let  Mrs. 
Melton  know  that  she  found  her  dull  and  funny. 

Hilda  for  the  moment  was  left  alone  with  Odd, 
and  he  seized  the  opportunity  for  inscribing  himself 
for  five  waltzes. 

"  I  will  be  greedy.  I  wrest  these  from  the  hungry 
horde  I  see  advancing,  led  by  your  father  and  Mrs. 
Melton." 

He  had  not  claimed  the  first  waltz,  and  watched 
her  while  she  danced  it — charmingly  and  happily 
as  a  girl  should.  She  was  beautiful,  surprisingly 
beautiful.  A  loveliness  in  the  carriage  of  the  little 
head,  with  its  heightened  coils  of  hair,  seemed  new 
to  Odd.  No  one  else's  hair  was  done  like  that,  nor 
grew  so  about  the  forehead.  The  white  satin  was 
a  trifle  too  big  for  her.  A  lace  sash  held  it  loosely 
to  her  waist,  and  floated  and  curved  with  the  curves 
of  her  long  flowing  skirt.  His  waltz  came,  and  he 
would  not  let  his  wonder  at  the  significance  of  his 
felicity  carry  him  too  far  into  conjecture. 

"Are  you  enjoying  yourself?"  he  asked,  as  they 
joined  the  eddy  circling  around  Mrs.  Melton's  ball- 
room. 

"  So  much ;  thanks  to  you."  Her  parted  lips 
smiled,  half  at  him,  half  at  the  joy  of  dancing.  "  I 
had  almost  forgotten  how  delicious  it  was." 

"  More  delicious  than  the  studio,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  You  shall  not  tempt  me  to  disloyalty.  How 
pretty,  too !  De  la  Touche  could  do  it — all  light 
and  movement  and  color.  I  should  like  to  come 
202 


HILDA 

out  of  my  demi-tints  and  have  a  try  myself !  What 
pretty  blue  shadows  everywhere  with  the  golden 
lights.  See  on  the  girls'  throats.  There  is  the 
good  of  the  studio !  One  sees  lovely  lights  and 
shadows  on  ugly  heads !  Is  n't  that  worth 
while?" 

Odd's  eyes  involuntarily  dropped  to  the  blue 
shadow  on  Hilda's  throat. 

"  Everything  you  do  is  worth  while — from  paint- 
ing to  dancing.  You  dance  very  well." 

The  white  fragility  of  her  neck  and  shoulders,  in 
the  generous  display  of  which  he  recognized  the 
gown's  quondam  possessor,  gave  him  a  little  pang 
of  fear.  She  looked  extremely  delicate,  and  the 
youthfulness  of  cheek  and  lip  pathetic.  That 
wretched  drudgery!  For,  even  through  the  happy 
candor  of  her  eyes,  he  saw  a  deep  fatigue — the 
long  fatigue  of  a  weary  monotony  of  days.  But 
in  neither  eyes  nor  voice  was  there  a  tinge  of  the 
aloofness — the  reserve  that  had  formerly  chilled 
him.  To-night  Hilda  seemed  near  once  more; 
almost  the  little  friend  of  ten  years  ago. 

"You  dance  well,  too,  Mr.  Odd,"  she  said. 

"  I  very  seldom  waltz." 

"  In  my  honor  then  ?  " 

"  Solely  in  your  honor.  I  have  n't  waltzed  five 
times  in  one  evening  with  one  young  woman — for 
ages ! " 

"  You  have  n't  waltzed  five  times  with  me  yet.  I 
may  wear  you  out !  " 

"  What  an  implied  reflection  on  my  forty  years ! 
Do  I  seem  so  old  to  you,  Hilda?  " 

"  No ;  I  don't  think  of  you  as  old." 
203 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  But  I  think  of  you  as  young,  very  young,  deli- 
ciously  young." 

"  Deliciously  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  That  is  a  fallacy, 
I  think.  Youth  is  sad  ;  does  n't  see  things  in  value; 
everything  is  blacker  or  whiter  than  reality,  so  that 
one  is  disappointed  or  desperate  all  the  time." 

"And  you,  Hilda?" 

Her  eyes  swept  his  with  a  sweet,  half-playful  de- 
fiance. 

"  Don't  be  personal." 

"  But  you  were.  And,  after  the  other  day — your 
declaration  of  contentment." 

"  Everything  is  comparative.  I  was  generalizing. 
I  hate  people  who  talk  about  themselves,"  Hilda 
added;  "  it's  the  worst  kind  of  immodesty.  Material 
and  mental  braggarts  are  far  more  endurable  than 
the  people  who  go  round  telling  about  their  souls." 

"  Severe,  rigid  child  !  "  Odd  laughed,  and,  after  a 
little  pause,  laughed  again.  "  You  are  horribly  re- 
served, Hilda." 

"  Very  sage  when  one  has  nothing  to  show. 
Silence  covers  such  a  multitude  of  sins.  If  one  is 
consistently  silent,  people  may  even  imagine  that 
one  is  n't  dull,"  said  Hilda  maliciously. 

"  You  are  dull  and  silent,  then  ?  " 

"  I  have  few  opinions ;  that  is,  perhaps,  dulness." 

"  It  may  be  a  very  wide  cleverness." 

"Yes  ;  it  may  be.  Now,  Mr.  Odd,  the  next  waltz 
is  yours  too,  you  know.  You  have  quite  a  cluster 
here.  Let  us  sit  out  the  next.  I  should  like  an 
ice." 

Odd  fetched  the  ice  and  sat  down  beside  her  on 
a  small  sofa  in  a  corner  of  the  ballroom.     Katherine 
204 


HILDA 

passed,  dancing ;  her  dark  eyes  flashed  upon  them 
a  glance  that  might  have  been  one  of  amusement. 
Odd  was  conscious  of  a  painful  effort  in  his  answer- 
ing smile. 

Hilda's  eyes,  as  she  ate  her  ice,  followed  her 
sister  with  a  fond  contemplation. 

"  Isn't  that  dress  becoming  to  her?  The  shade  of 
deepening,  changing  rose." 

"Your  dress,  too,  Hilda,  is  lovely." 

"  Do  you  notice  dresses,  care  about  them  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,  sometimes ;  not  in  detail  as  a 
woman  would,  but  in  the  blended  effect  of  dress  and 
wearer." 

"  I  love  beautiful  dresses.  I  think  this  dress  is 
beautiful.  Have  you  noticed  the  line  it  makes  from 
breast  to  hem,  that  long,  unbroken  line?  I  think 
that  line  the  secret  of  elegance.  In  some  gowns  one 
sees  one  has  visions  of  crushed  ribs,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

Odd  listened  respectfully,  his  mouth  twisted  a 
little  by  that  same  smile  that  he  still  felt  to  be  pain- 
ful. "And  is  not  this  lace  gathered  around  the 
shoulders  pretty  too?"  Hilda  turned  to  him  for 
inspection. 

"  You  will  talk  about  your  clothes,  but  you  will 
not  talk  about  yourself,  Hilda."  Odd  had  put  on 
his  eyeglasses  and  was  obediently  studying  her 
gown. 

"  The  lace  is  mamma's.  Poor  mamma  ;  I  know 
she  is  lonely.  It  does  seem  hard  to  be  left  alone 
when  other  people  are  enjoying  themselves.  She 
has  Meredith's  last  novel,  however.  I  began  it  with 
her.  Mr.  Odd,  I  am  doing  all  the  talking.  You 
talk  now." 

205 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"About  Meredith,  your  dress,  or  you?" 

"  About  yourself,  if  you  please." 

"  It  has  seemed  to  me,  Hilda,  that  you  were  even 
less  interested  in  me  than  you  were  in  yourself." 

Hilda  looked  round  at  him  quickly,  and  he  felt 
that  his  eyes  held  hers  with  a  force  which  almost 
compelled  her — 

"  No  ;  I  am  very  much  interested  in  you."  Odd 
was  silent,  studying  her  face  with  much  the  same 
expression  that  he  had  studied  her  gown — the  ex- 
pression of  painfully  controlled  emotion. 

"  There  is  nothing  comparably  interesting  in  me," 
he  said  ;  "  I  have  had  my  story,  or  at  least  I  have 
missed  my  chance  to  have  a  story." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  mean  that  I  might  have  made  a  mark  in 
the  world  and  did  n't." 

"  And  your  books  ?  " 

"  They  are  as  negative  as  I  am." 

"  Yet  they  have  helped  me  to  live."  Hilda  looked 
hard  at  him  while  she  spoke,  and  a  sudden  color 
swept  into  her  face ;  no  confusion,  but  the  emo- 
tion of  impulsive  resolution.  Odd,  however,  turned 
white. 

"  Helped  you  to  live,  Hilda !  "  he  almost  stam- 
mered ;  "  my  gropings  !  " 

"  You  may  call  them  gropings,  but  they  led  me. 
Perhaps  you  were  like  Virgil  to  Statius,  in  Dante. 
You  know?  You  bore  your  light  behind  and  lit 
my  path  !  "  She  smiled,  adding  :  "  I  suppose  you 
think  you  have  failed  because  you  have  reached  no 
dogmatic  absolute  conclusion.  But  you  yourself 
praise  noble  failure  and  scorn  cheap  success." 
206 


HILDA 

"  I  did  n't  even  know  you  read  my  books." 

"  I  know  your  books  very  well ;  much  better  than 
I  know  you." 

"  Don't  say  that.  I  hope  that  any  worth  in  me  is 
in  them." 

"  One  would  have  to  survey  your  life  as  a  whole 
to  be  sure  of  that.  Perhaps  you  do  even  better  than 
you  write." 

"  Ah,  no,  no  ;  I  can  praise  the  books  by  that  com- 
parison." His  voice  stumbled  a  little  incoherently, 
and  Hilda,  rising,  said  with  a  smile — 

"  Shall  we  dance  ?  " 

In  the  terribly  disquieting  whirl  of  his  thoughts, 
which  shared  the  dance's  circling  propensities,  Odd 
held  fast  to  one  fixed  kernel  of  desire  ;  he  must  hear 
from  Hilda's  lips  why  she  had  refused  Allan  Hope. 

An  uneasy  consciousness  of  Katherine  crossed 
his  mind  once  and  again  with  a  dull  ache  of  self- 
reproach,  all  the  more  insistent  from  his  realization 
that  its  cause  was  not  so  much  the  infidelity  to 
Katherine  as  that  Hilda  would  think  him  a  sorry 
villain. 

Katherine  seemed  to  be  dancing  and  enjoying 
herself.  She  knew  that  his  energy  this  evening  was 
on  Hilda's  account ;  he  had  claimed  the  responsi- 
bility for  Hilda.  Katherine  would  not  consider 
herself  neglected,  of  that  Peter  felt  sure,  relying, 
with  perhaps  a  display  of  the  dulness  she  had  dis- 
covered in  him,  upon  her  confidence  and  common 
sense.  Outwardly,  at  least,  he  would  never  betray 
that  confidence  ;  there  was  some  rather  dislocated 
consolation  in  that. 

Hilda  was  a  little  breathless  when  he  came  to 
207 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

claim  her  for  the  second  cluster  of  waltzes.  It  was 
near  the  end  of  the  evening. 

"  I  have  been  dancing  steadily"  she  announced, 
"and  twice  down  to  supper!  Did  you  try  any  of 
the  narrow  little  sandwiches  ?  So  good  ! " 

"  And  you  still  don't  grudge  me  my  waltzes  ?  " 

"  I  like  yours  best  !  "  she  said,  smiling  at  him  as 
she  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  They  took  a 
few  turns  around  the  room  and  then  Hilda  owned 
that  she  was  a  little  tired.  They  sat  down  again 
on  the  sofa. 

"  Hilda !  "  said  Odd  suddenly,  "  will  you  think 
me  very  rude  if  I  ask  you  why  you  refused  Allan 
Hope?" 

Hilda  turned  a  startled  glance  upon  him. 

"  No ;  perhaps  not,"  she  answered,  though  the 
voice  was  rather  frigid. 

"  You  don't  think  I  have  a  right  to  ask,  do  you  ?" 

"  Well,  the  answer  is  so  evident." 

"  Is  it  ?"  Hilda  had  looked  away  at  the  dancers; 
she  turned  her  head  now  half  unwillingly  and  glanced 
at  him,  smiling. 

"  I  would  not  have  refused  him  if  I  had  loved 
him,  would  I?  You  know  that.  It  doesn't  seem 
quite  fair,  quite  kind,  to  talk  of,  does  it?" 

"  Not  to  me  even?  I  have  been  interested  in  it 
for  a  long  time.  Katherine  told  me,  and  Mary." 

"  I  don't  know  why  they  should  have  been  so 
sure,"  said  Hilda,  with  some  hardness  of  tone.  "  I 
never  encouraged  him.  I  avoided  him."  She 
looked  at  Odd  again.  "  But  I  am  not  angry  with 
you  ;  if  any  one  has  a  right,  you  have." 

"  Thanks  ;  thanks,  dear.  You  understand,  you 
208 


HILDA 

knou)  my  interest,  my  anxiety.  It  seemed  so — 
happy  for  both.  And  you  care  for  no  one  else?  " 

"  No  one  else."  Hilda's  eyes  rested  on  his  with 
clear  sincerity. 

"  Don't  you  ever  intend  to  marry,  Hilda  ?  "  Odd 
was  leaning  forward,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and 
looking  at  the  floor.  There  was  certainly  a  tension 
in  his  voice,  and  he  felt  that  Hilda  was  scanning 
him  with  some  wonder. 

"  Does  a  refusal  to  take  one  person  imply  that  ? 
I  have  made  no  vows." 

"  I  don't  see — "  Odd  paused  ;  "  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  n't  care  for  Hope." 

"Are  you  going  to  plead  his  cause?"  she  asked 
lightly. 

"  Would  it  not  be  for  your  happiness  ?"  Odd  sat 
upright  now,  putting  on  his  eyeglasses  and  looking 
at  her  with  a  certain  air  of  resolution. 

"  I  don't  love  him."  Hilda  returned  the  look 
sweetly  and  frankly. 

"What  do  you  know  of  love,  you  child?  Why 
not  have  given  him  a  chance,  put  him  on  trial? 
Nothing  wins  a  woman  like  wooing." 

"  How  didactic  we  are  becoming.  I  am  afraid  I 
should  really  get  to  loathe  poor  Lord  Allan  if  I  had 
given  him  leave  to  woo  me." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  him  too  unindividual,  too 
much  of  a  pattern  with  other  healthy  and  hearty 
young  men.  Don't  you  know,  foolish  child,  that  a 
good  man,  a  man  who  would  love  you  as  he  would, 
make  you  the  husband  he  would,  is»a  rarity  and  very 
individual?" 

Odd  found  a  perverse  pleasure  in  his  own  pater- 
14  209 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

nally  admonishing  attitude.  Hilda's  lightly  amused 
but  touched  look  implied  a  confidence  so  charming 
that  he  found  the  attitude  sublimely  courageous. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  and  she  added,  "  I 
have  n't  one  word  to  say  against  Lord  Allan,  ex- 
cept— "  She  paused  meditatively. 

"  Except  what  ?  "    Odd  asked  rather  breathlessly. 

"  He  does  n't  really  need  me." 

"  Does  n't  need  you  !  Why,  the  man  is  desper- 
ately in  love  with  you  !  " 

"  He  needs  a  wife,  but  he  does  n't  need  me." 

"  You  are  subtle,  Hilda." 

"  I  don't  think  I  am  that" 

"  You  are  waiting,  then,  for  some  one  who  can 
satisfy  you  as  to  his  need  of  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  only  marry  that  person." 

Hilda  jumped  up.  "But  I'm  not  waiting  at  all, 
you  know.  Dansons  maintenant !  Your  task  is 
nearly  over !  " 

It  was  very  late  when  Odd  gave  Hilda  up  to  her 
last  partner,  and  joined  Katherine  in  a  small  ante- 
chamber, where  she  was  sitting  among  flowers,  talk- 
ing to  an  appreciative  Frenchman.  This  gentleman, 
with  the  ceremonious  bow  of  his  race,  made  away 
when  Miss  Archinard's  fiance"  appeared,  and  Odd 
dropped  into  the  vacated  seat  with  a  horrible  sinking 
of  the  heart.  The  dull  self-reproach  was  now  acute, 
He  felt  meanly  guilty.  Katherine  looked  at  him 
funnily — very  good-humoredly. 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  had  it  in  you  to  dance  so 
well  and  so  persistently,  Peter.  You  have  done 
honor  to  Hilda's  ball." 

"  I  hope  I  was  n't  too  selfishly  monopolizing." 
210 


HILDA 

"  Oh,  you  had  a  right  to  a  certain  monopoly  since, 
owing  to  you  only,  she  came,"  and  Katherine  added, 
smiling  still  more  good-humoredly,  "  I  am  not  jeal- 
ous, Peter." 

He  turned  to  look  at  her.  The  words,  the  play- 
ful tone  in  which  they  were  uttered,  struck  him  like 
a  blow.  His  guilty  consciousness  of  his  own  feel- 
ing gave  them  a  supreme  nobility.  She  was  not 
jealous.  What  a  cur  he  would  be  if  ever  he  gave 
her  apparent  cause  for  jealousy.  The  cause  was 
there ;  his  task  must  be  to  keep  it  hidden. 

"  But  suppose  I  am  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  you  have  n't 
given  me  a  single  dance." 

Katherine's  smile  was  placid  ;  she  did  not  say 
that  he  had  not  asked  for  one.  Indeed  they  had 
rarely  danced  together. 

"  I  think  of  going  to  England  in  a  day  or  two, 
Peter,"  she  observed.  "  The  Devreuxs  have  asked 
me  to  spend  a  month  with  them." 

Peter  sat  very  still. 

"A  sudden  decision,  Kathy?" 

"  No,  not  so  sudden.  Our  t$te-h-tete  can't  be  pro- 
longed forever. " 

"Until  our  wedding  day,  you  mean?  Well,  the 
wedding  day  must  be  fixed  before  you  go." 

"  I  yield.     The  first  part  of  May." 

"  Three  months !    Let  it  be  April  at  least,  Kathy." 

"  No,  I  am  for  May." 

"  It 's  an  unlucky  month." 

"  Oh,  we  can  defy  bad  luck,  can't  we  ?  "  Kath- 
erine smiled. 

"  If  you  go  away,  I  shall,"  said  Odd,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence. 

211 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  would  stay  here  and  look 
after  mamma — and  Hilda,"  said  Katherine  slowly, 
and  with  a  wondering  thought  for  this  revealment 
of  poor  Peter's  folly.  Peter  then  intended  to  heroic- 
ally sacrifice  his  infidelity.  That  he  should  think 
she  did  not  see  it ! 

"  I  am  not  over  this  beastly  cold  yet.  A  trip 
through  Provence  would  set  me  right.  I  should 
come  back  through  Touraine  just  at  the  season 
of  lilacs.  I  am  afraid  I  should  be  useless  here  in 
Paris.  I  see  so  little  of  your  mother — and  Hilda. 
Arrange  that  Taylor  shall  go  for  her  after  her 
lessons." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  mamma  can't  spare  Taylor." 

Peter  moved  impatiently. 

"  Katherine,  may  I  give  you  some  money  ?  She 
would  take  it  from  you.  Persuade  her  to  give  up 
that  work.  You  could  do  it  delicately." 

"As  I  have  told  you,  you  exaggerate  my  influ- 
ence. She  would  suspect  the  donor.  She  would 
not  take  the  money. 

"  I  could  speak  to  your  father ;  lend  him  a  sum." 

Katherine  flushed. 

"  It  would  make  him  very  angry  with  her  if  he 
knew.  And  the  lessons  are  a  fixed  sum  ;  only  a 
steady  income  would  be  the  equivalent." 

"  Oh  dear !  "  sighed  Peter.  He  suddenly  realized 
that  of  late  he  had  talked  of  little  else  but  Hilda  in 
his  conversations  with  Katherine. 

"  When  do  you  go  to  London,  dear?"  he  asked. 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow."    Katherine,  above  the 
waving  of  her  fan,  smiled  slightly  at  his  change  of 
tone.     "Will  you  miss  me,  Peter?" 
212 


HILDA 

"All  the  more  for  being  cross  with  you.  It  is 
very  wrong  of  you  to  play  truant  like  this." 

"  It  will  be  good  for  both  of  us."  Katherine's 
voice  was  playful,  and  showed  no  trace  of  the  bitter- 
ness she  was  feeling.  "  I  might  get  tired  of  you, 
Peter,  if  I  allowed  myself  no  interludes.  Absence 
is  the  best  fuel  to  appreciation.  I  shall  come  back 
realizing  more  fully  than  ever  your  perfection." 

"  What  a  sage  little  person  it  is !  Sarcastic  as 
well !  May  I  write  to  you  very  often  ?" 

"As  often  as  you  feel  like  it;  but  don't  force 
feeling.'' 

"  May  I  describe  chateaux  and  churches  ?  And 
will  you  read  my  descriptions  if  I  do  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure — and  profit.  Let  me  know,  too, 
how  the  book  gets  on.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you 
at  the  British  Museum  ?  " 

It  struck  Katherine  that  the  change  in  their  rela- 
tion which  she  now  contemplated  as  very  probably 
definite  might  well  allow  of  a  return  to  the  first 
phase  of  their  companionship.  A  letter  from  Allan 
Hope  which  she  had  received  that  morning,  though 
satisfactory  in  many  respects,  was  not  quite  so  from 
an  intellectual  standpoint.  An  intellectual  friend- 
ship with  Peter  Odd  was  a  pleasant  possession  for 
any  woman,  and  Katherine  perhaps,  with  an  excus- 
able malice,  rather  anticipated  the  time  when  Peter 
might  have  regrets,  and  find  in  that  friendship  the 
solace  of  certain  disappointments  from  which  Kath- 
erine had  almost  decided  not  to  withhold  him. 

"  I  shall  try  to  keep  you  profitably  yoked,  then, 
even  in  London,  shall  I  ?  "  said  Odd,  in  reply  to  an 
offer  more  generous  than  he  could  have  divined. 
213 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Discipline  is  good  for  a  rebellious  spirit  like  yours. 
Don't  be  frightened,  Kathy.  Go  and  look  at  the 
Elgin  Marbles  if  you  like.  I  shall  set  you  no  heavier 
task." 

"  They  are  so  profoundly  melancholy  in  their 
cellared  respectable  abode,  poor  dears !  I  know 
they  would  have  preferred  dropping  to  pieces  under 
a  Greek  sky.  A  cruel  kindness  to  preserve  them  in 
an  insulting  immortality.  The  frieze  especially, 
stretched  round  the  ugly  wall  like  a  butterfly  under 
a  glass  case  !  "  Odd  laughed  with  more  light-heart- 
edness  than  he  had  felt  for  some  time.  It  rejoiced 
him  to  feel  that  he  still  found  Katherine  charming. 
There  must  certainly  be  safety  in  that  affectionate 
admiration. 

"  I  won't  even  ask  you  to  harrow  your  suscepti- 
bility by  a  look  at  the  insulted  frieze,  then  ;  you 
must  know  it  well,  to  enter  with  such  sympathy  into 
its  feelings.  Only  you  must  write,  Katherine.  I 
shall  be  lonely  down  there.  A  daily  letter  would  be 
none  too  many." 

"  I  can't  quite  see  why  you  are  exiling  yourself. 
Of  course,  the  weather  here  is  nasty  just  now.  I 
have  noticed  your  cough  all  the  evening.  Come  and 
say  good-bye  to-morrow.  I  shall  be  very  busy,  so 
fix  your  hour." 

"  Our  usual  hour  ?     In  the  morning?" 

"You  will  not  see  Hilda  then." 

"  Hilda  has  had  enough  of  me  to-night,  I  am  sure. 
You  will  kiss  her  au  revoir  for  me." 

Odd  felt  a  certain  triumph. 

Katherine's  departure  could  be  taken  as  a  merciful 
opportunity  for  makeshift  flight.  After  a  month  or 
214 


HILDA 

two  of  solitary  wrestling  and  wandering,  he  might 
find  that  the  dubiously  directed  forces  of  Providence 
were  willing  to  help  one  who  helped  himself. 

His  mind  fastened  persistently  on  the  details  of 
the  suddenly  entertained  idea  of  escape  from  the 
madness  he  felt  closing  round  him.  The  disclosure 
of  his  passion  for  Hilda  stared  him  in  the  face. 
And  how  face  the  truth  ?  A  man  may  fight  a  dis- 
honoring weakness,  but  how  fight  the  realization 
that  a  love  founded  on  highest  things,  stirring 
highest  emotions  in  him,  had,  for  the  first  time, 
come  into  his  life,  and  too  late?  A  love  as  far 
removed  from  the  wrecking  passion  of  his  youth  as 
it  was  from  the  affectionate  rationality  of  his  feeling 
toward  Katherine ;  and  yet,  because  of  that  tie, 
drifted  into  from  a  lazy  indifference  and  kindness 
for  which  he  cursed  himself,  capable  of  bringing 
him  to  a  more  fearful  shipwreck. 

Hilda's  selflessness  was  rather  awful  to  the  man 
who  loved  her,  and  gave  her  a  power  of  clear  per- 
ception that  made  sinking  in  her  eyes  more  to  be 
dreaded  than  any  hurt  to  himself. 

And  Peter  departed  for  the  South  without  seeing 
her  again. 

215 


CHAPTER   IX 

AN  April  sky  smiled  over  Paris  on  the  day  of 
Odd's  return.     A  rather  prolonged  tour  had 
tanned  his  face,  and  completely  cured  his  lungs. 

He  expected  to  find  Katherine  already  in  Paris  ; 
her  last  letters  had  announced  her  departure  from  a 
Surrey  country  house,  and  had  implied  some  anxiety 
in  regard  to  a  prolonged  illness  of  Mrs.  Archinard's. 
Katherine  had  written  him  very  soon  after  their 
parting,  that  the  Captain  had  gone  on  a  yachting 
trip  in  the  Mediterranean,  and  that  she  knew  that 
he  had  left  Hilda  with  money,  so  Peter  need  not 
worry.  Peter  had  seen  to  this  matter  before  leaving 
Paris,  and  had  approved  of  the  Captain's  projected 
jaunt.  He  surmised  that  her  father's  absence  would 
lighten  Hilda's  load,  and  hoped  that  the  sum  he 
placed  in  the  Captain's  hands — on  the  understanding 
that  most  of  it  was  to  be  given  to  Hilda — but  from 
her  father,  would  relieve  her  from  the  necessity  for 
teaching.  Peter  called  at  the  Rue  Pierre  Charron 
early  in  the  afternoon,  but  the  servant  (neither 
Taylor  nor  Wilson,  but  a  more  hybrid-looking  in- 
dividual with  unmistakable  culinary  traces  upon  her 
countenance)  told  him  that  Mademoiselle  Archinard 
had  not  yet  arrived.  Madame  still  in  bed  "  toujours 
souffrante"  and  "Mademoiselle  llda" — Odd  had 
216 


HILDA 

hesitated  uncomfortably  before  asking  for  her — 
was  out.  "  Pas  bien  non  plus,  celle-la"  she  volun- 
teered, with  a  kindly  French  familiarity  that  still 
more  strongly  emphasized  the  contrast  with  Taylor 
and  Wilson ;  "  Elle  s'e'reinte,  voyez-vous  monsieur,  la 
pauvre  demoiselle"  With  a  sick  sense  of  calamity 
and  helplessness  upon  him,  Odd  asked  at  what  hours 
she  might  be  found.  All  the  morning,  it  seemed 
"  Ilfaut  bien  quelle  soigne  madame,  etpuis  elle  m'aide. 
Je  suis  seule  et  la  besogne  serait  par  trop  lourde"  and 
Rosalie  also  volunteered  the  remark  that  "  Madame 
est  tres,  mats  trh  exigeante,  nuit  et  jour ;  pas  moyen 
de  dormir  avec  une  dame  comme  celle-la," 

Odd  looked  at  his  watch  ;  it  was  almost  five.  If 
Hilda  had  kept  to  her  days  he  should  probably  find 
her  in  the  Rue  d'Assas,  and,  with  the  angriest  feel- 
ings for  himself  and  for  the  whole  Archinard  family, 
Hilda  excepted,  he  was  driven  there  through  a  sud- 
den shower  that  scudded  in  fretful  clouds  across  the 
blue  above.  He  was  none  too  soon,  for  he  caught 
sight  of  Hilda  half-way  up  the  street  as  they  turned 
the  corner.  The  sight  of  him,  as  he  jumped  out  of 
the  cab  and  waylaid  her,  half  dazed  her  evidently. 

"  You  ?  I  can  hardly  believe  it !  "  she  gasped, 
smiling,  but  in  a  voice  that  plainly  showed  over- 
wrought mental  and  physical  conditions.  She  was 
wofully  white  and  thin  ;  the  hollowed  line  of  her 
cheek  gave  to  her  lips  a  prominence  pathetically, 
heartrendingly  childlike  ;  her  clothes  had  reached 
a  pitch  of  shabbiness  that  could  hardly  claim  gen- 
tility ;  the  slits  in  her  umbrella  and  the  battered 
shapelessness  of  her  miserable  little  hat  symbolized 
a  biting  poverty. 

217 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Hilda  !  Hilda!  "  was  all  Odd  found  to  say  as  he 
put  her  into  the  cab.  He  was  aghast. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  and  her  voice 
had  a  forced  gayety  over  its  real  weakness ;  "  I 
have  n't  seen  any  of  my  people  for  so  long,  except 
mamma.  An  illness  seems  to  put  years  between 
things,  does  n't  it  ?  Poor  mamma  has  been  so  really 
ill.  It  has  troubled  me  horribly,  for  I  could  not  tell 
whether  it  were  grave  enough  to  bring  back  papa 
and  Katherine;  but  Katherine  is  coming.  I  ex- 
pected her  a  day  or  two  ago,  and  mamma  is  much, 
much  better.  As  for  papa,  the  last  time  I  heard 
from  him  he  was  in  Greece  and  going  on  to  Constan- 
tinople. I  am  glad  now  that  he  has  n't  been  need- 
lessly frightened,  for  he  will  get  all  my  last  letters 
together,  and  will  hear  that  she  is  almost  well 
again.  And  you  are  here  !  And  Kathy  coming  !  I 
feel  that  all  my  clouds  are  breaking." 

Odd  could  trust  his  voice  now ;  her  courage, 
strung  as  he  felt  it  to  be  over  depths  of  dreadful 
suffering,  nerved  him  to  a  greater  self-control. 

"  If  I  had  known  I  would  have  come  sooner,"  he 
said  ;  "  you  would  have  let  me  help  you,  would  n't 
you  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  could  n't  have  helped  me.  That 
is  the  worst  of  illness,  one  can  only  wait ;  but  you 
would  have  cheered  me  up." 

"  My  poor  child  !  "  Odd  inwardly  cursed  him- 
self. "If  I  had  known !  What  have  you  been 
doing  to  yourself,  Hilda  ?  You  look — " 

"  Fagged,  don't  I  ?     It  is  the  anxiety ;    I   have 
given  up  half  my  work  since  you  left ;  my  pictures 
are  accepted  at  the  Champs  de  Mars.     We  '11  all 
218 


HILDA 

go  to  the  vernissage  together.  And,  as  they  were 
done,  I  let  Miss  Latimer  have  the  studio  for  the 
whole  day.  That  left  me  my  mornings  free  for 
mamma." 

"  Taylor  helped  you,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Taylor  is  with  Katherine.  She  went  before 
mamma  was  at  all  ill,  and  indeed  mamma  insisted 
that  Katherine  must  have  her  maid.  I  was  glad  that 
she  should  go,  for  she  has  worked  hard  without  a 
rest  for  so  long,  and,  of  course,  travelling  about  as 
she  has  been  doing,  Katherine  needed  her."  There 
was  an  explanatory  note  in  Hilda's  voice ;  indeed 
Odd's  silence,  big  with  comment,  gave  it  a  touch  of 
defiance.  "  It  made  double  duty  for  Rosalie,  but 
she  is  a  good,  willing  creature,  and  has  not  minded." 

"And  Wilson?" 

"  He  went  with  papa.  I  don't  think  papa  could 
live  without  Wilson." 

"  Oh,  indeed.  I  begin  to  solve  the  problem  of 
your  ghastly  little  face.  You  have  been  house- 
maid, garde-malade,  and  bread-winner.  Had  you 
no  money  at  all  ?  "  Hilda  flushed — the  quick  flush 
of  physical  weakness. 

"  Yes,  at  first,"  she  replied  ;  "  papa  gave  me  quite 
a  lot  before  going,  and  that  has  paid  part  of  the 
doctor's  bills,  and  my  lessons  brought  in  the  usual 
amount." 

"  Could  you  not  have  given  up  the  lessons  for 
the  time  being?" 

"  I  know  you  think  it  dreadful  in  me  to  have  left 

mamma  for  all  those  afternoons."     Her  acceptation 

of  a  blame  infinitely  removed  from  his   thoughts 

stupefied  Odd.     "  And  mamma  has  thought  it  heart- 

219 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

less,  most  naturally.  But  Rosalie  is  trustworthy 
and  kind.  The  doctor  came  three  times  a  day  and 
I  can  explain  to  you  " — Hilda  hesitated — "  the  money 
papa  gave  me  went  almost  immediately — some  un- 
paid bills." 

"  What  bills  ?  "  Odd  spoke  sternly. 

"Why,  we  owe  bills  right  and  left !  "  said  Hilda. 

"  But  what  bills  were  these  ?  " 

"  There  was  the  rent  of  the  apartment  for  one 
thing ;  we  should  have  had  to  go  had  that  not  been 
paid;  and  then,  some  tailors,  a  dressmaker;  they 
threatened  to  seize  the  furniture." 

"  Katherine's  dressmaker?" 

"  Yes  ;  Katherine,  I  know,  never  dreamed  that 
she  would  be  so  impatient ;  but  I  suppose,  on  hear- 
ing that  Katherine  had  gone  to  England,  the  woman 
became  frightened."  Peter  controlled  himself  to 
silence.  The  very  fulness  of  Hilda's  confidence 
showed  the  strain  that  had  been  put  upon  her. 
"  And  then,"  she  went  on,  as  he  did  not  speak, 
"  some  of  the  money  had  to  go  to  Katherine  in 
England.  Poor  Kathy  !  To  be  pinched  like  that ! 
She  wrote,  that  at  one  place  it  took  her  last  shilling 
to  tip  the  servants  and  get  her  railway  ticket  to 
Surrey." 

"  Why  did  she  not  write  to  me  ?  Considering  all 
things — " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hilda — her  tone  needed  no  comment 
— "  we  have  not  quite  come  to  that."  She  added 
presently  and  gently,  "  I  had  money  for  her." 

Odd  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it ;  the  glove  was 
loose  upon  it. 

"  And  now,"  said  Hilda,  leaning  forward  and 
220 


HILDA 

smiling  at  him,  "you  have  heard  me  filer  mon  chape- 
let.  Tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing." 

"  My  lazy  wanderings  in  the  sun  would  sound  too 
grossly  egotistic  after  your  story." 

"  Has  my  story  sounded  so  dismal?  /have  been 
egotistic,  then.  I  had  hoped  that  perhaps  you 
would  write  to  me,"  she  added,  and  a  delicately 
malicious  little  smile  lit  her  face.  Odd  looked  hard 
at  her,  with  a  half-dreamy  stare. 

"  I  thought  of  you,"  he  said  ;  "  I  should  have 
liked  to  write." 

"Well,  in  the  future  do,  please,  when  you  feel 
like  it." 

Mrs.  Archinard  was  extended  on  the  sofa  in  the 
drawing-room  when  they  reached  the  Rue  Pierre 
Charron.  The  crisp  daintiness  of  pseudo-invalidism 
had  withered  to  a  look  of  sickly  convalescence. 
She  was  much  faded,  and  her  little  air  of  melan- 
choly affectation  pitifully  fretful. 

"  You  come  before  my  own  daughter,  Peter,"  she 
said ;  "  I  don't  blame  Katherine,  since  Hilda  tells 
me  that  she  did  not  let  her  know  of  my  dangerous 
condition." 

"  Not  dangerous,  mamma,"  Hilda  said,  with  a 
patient  firmness  not  untouched  by  resentment,  a 
touch  to  Odd  most  new  and  pleasing.  "  The  doctor 
had  perfect  confidence  in  me,  and  would  have  told 
me.  I  should  have  sent  for  papa  and  Katherine  the 
moment  he  thought  it  advisable.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances they  could  have  done  nothing  for  you 
that  I  did  not  do."  Hilda  had,  indeed,  rather  dis- 
torted facts  to  shield  Katherine.  What  would  Mrs. 
Archinard  have  said  had  she  known  that  Katherine, 
221 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

in  answer  to  a  letter  begging  her  to  return,  had  re- 
plied that  she  could  not  ?  Even  in  Hilda's  chari- 
table heart  that  "  could  not "  had  rankled.  Odd's 
despairing  gloom  discerned  something  of  this  truth, 
as  he  realized  that  the  uncharacteristic  self-justifica- 
tion was  prompted  by  a  rebellion  against  misinter- 
pretation before  him.  Mrs.  Archinard  showed  some 
nervous  surprise. 

"  Very  well,  very  well,  Hilda,"  she  said,  "  I  am 
sure  I  ask  no  sacrifices  on  my  account.  One  may 
die  alone  as  one  has  lived — alone.  My  life  has 
trained  me  in  stoicism.  You  had  better  wash  your 
face,  Hilda.  There  is  a  great  smudge  of  charcoal 
on  your  cheek,"  and,  as  Hilda  turned  and  walked 
out,  "  I  have  looked  on  the  face  of  the  King  of  Ter- 
rors, Peter.  Peter !  dear  old  homely  name !  the 
faithful  ring  in  it !  It  is  easy  for  Hilda  to  talk  !  I 
make  no  complaint.  She  has  nursed  me  excellently 
well — as  far  as  her  nursing  went.  But  she  has  a 
hard  soul !  no  tenderness !  no  sympathy  !  To  leave 
her  dying  mother  every  afternoon  !  To  sacrifice 
me  to  her  painting!  At  such  a  time!  Ah  me!" 
Large  tears  rolled  down  Mrs.  Archinard's  cheeks, 
and  her  voice  trembled  with  weakness  and  self-pity. 
Odd,  in  his  raging  resentment,  could  have  exploded 
the  truth  upon  her  ;  the  tears  arrested  his  impulse, 
and  he  sat  moodily  gazing  at  the  floor.  Mrs. 
Archinard  raised  her  lace-edged  handkerchief  and 
delicately  touched  away  the  tears. 

"  I    have   given   my  whole   life,   my   whole   life, 

Peter,  for  my  girls  !     I  have  borne  this  long  exile 

from  my  home  for  their  sakes!  "     At  Allersley  Mrs. 

Archinard  had  never  ceased  complaining  of  her  re- 

222 


HILDA 

stricted  lot,  and  had  characterized  her  neighbors  as 
"  yokels  and  Philistines."  Speaking  with  her  hand- 
kerchief pressed  by  her  finger-tips  upon  her  eyelids, 
she  continued,  "  I  have  asked  nothing  of  them  but 
sympathy ;  that  I  have  craved  !  And  in  my  hour 
of  need — "  Mrs.  Archinard's /0zV/£  <&  Venise  bosom 
heaved  once  more.  Odd  took  her  hand  with  the  un- 
willing yet  pitying  kindness  one  would  show  towards 
a  silly  and  unpleasant  child. 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  quite  fair,"  he  said ; 
"  Hilda  looks  as  badly  as  you  do.  She  has  had  a 
heavy  load  to  carry." 

"  I  told  her  again  and  again  to  get  a  garde- 
malade,  two  if  necessary."  Mrs.  Archinard's  voice 
rose  to  a  higher  key.  "  She  has  chosen  to  ruin  her 
appearance  by  sitting  up  to  all  hours  of  the  night, 
and  by  working  all  day  in  that  futile  studio." 

"  Garde-malades  are  expensive."  Odd  could  not 
restrain  his  voice's  edge. 

"  Expensive  !  For  a  dying  mother  !  And  with 
all  that  is  lavished  on  her  studio — canvases,  paints, 
models ! " 

The  depths  of  misconception  were  too  hopelessly 
great,  and,  as  Mrs.  Archinard's  voice  had  now  be- 
come shrilly  emphatic,  he  kept  silence,  his  heart 
shaken  with  misery  and  with  pity,  despairing  pity 
for  Hilda.  She  re-entered  presently,  wearing  on 
her  face  too  evident  signs  of  contrition.  She  spoke 
to  her  mother  in  tones  of  gentle  entreaty,  humored 
her  sweetly,  gayly  even,  while  she  made  tea. 

"  You  know  I  cannot  touch  cake,  Hilda." 

"  There  are  buttered  brioches,  mamma,  piping  hot." 

"  Properly  buttered,  I  hope.  Rosalie  usually 
223 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

places  a  great  clot  in  the  centre,  leaving  the  edges 
uneatable." 

"  Mamma  is  like  the  princess  who  felt  the  pea 
through  all  the  dozens  of  mattresses,  isn't  she?" 
said  Hilda,  smiling  at  Odd.  "  But  /  buttered  these 
with  scientific  exactitude." 

"Exactitude!  Ah!  the  mirage  of  science!  More 
milk,  more  milk !  "  Mrs.  Archinard  raised  herself 
on  one  elbow  to  watch  with  expectant  disapproval 
the  concoction  of  her  tea,  and,  relapsing  on  her 
cushions  as  the  tea  was  brought  to  her,  "  I  suppose 
it  is  milk,  though  I  prefer  cream." 

"  No,  it 's  cream."  Hilda  should  know,  as  she  had 
herself  just  darted  round  the  corner  to  the  crhnerie. 
Odd  sprang  up  to  take  his  cup  from  her.  He  thought 
she  looked  in  danger  of  falling  to  the  ground. 

"  Do  sit  down,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  you  look 
very,  very  badly." 

"  Have  you  read  Meredith's  last  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Archinard  from  the  sofa.  "  Hilda  is  reading  it  to 
me  in  the  evenings.  We  began  it,  ah !  long,  long 
ago.  I  have  sympathy  for  Meredith,  an  intimitt ' ! 
It  is  so  I  feel,  see  things — super-subtly.  Strange 
how  coarsely  objective  some  minds  are !  Did  you 
order  the  oysters  for  my  dinner,  Hilda,  and  the  ice 
from  Ga.g£s—pistache?  I  hope  you  impressed 
pistache.  You  will  dine  with  Hilda,  of  course, 
Peter ;  I  have  my  dinner  here ;  I  am  not  yet  strong 
enough  to  sit  through  a  meal.  And  then  you  must 
talk  to  me  about  Meredith.  I  always  find  you  most 
suggestive — such  new  lights  on  old  things.  And 
Verhaeren,  too  ;  do  you  care  for  Verhaeren  ?  Mor- 
bid ?  Yes,  perhaps,  but  that  is  a  truism — not  like 
224 


HILDA 

you,  Peter.  '  Les  apparus  dans  mes  chemins]  poor, 
modern,  broken,  bleeding  soul !  We  must  talk  of 
Verhaeren.  Just  now  I  feel  very  sleepy.  You  will 
excuse  me  if  I  simply  sans  gene  turn  over  and  take 
a  nap  ?  I  can  often  sleep  at  this  hour.  Hilda,  show 
Peter  the  Burne-Jones  Chaucer  over  there.  Hilda 
does  n't  find  him  limpid,  sweet,  healthy  enough  for 
Chaucer ;  but  nous  sommes  tons  les  enfants  malades 
nowadays.  There  is  a  beauty,  you  know,  in  that. 
Talk  it  over." 

Hilda  and  Peter  sat  down  obediently  side  by  side 
on  the  distant  little  canape"  before  the  Burne-Jones 
Chaucer.  They  went  over  the  pages,  not  paying 
much  attention  to  the  woodcuts,  but  looking  down 
favorite  passages  together.  The  description  of 
"  my  swete  "  in  "  The  Book  of  the  Duchess,"  the 
complaint  of  poor  Troilus,  and,  once  more,  Arcite's 
death.  The  quiet  room  was  very  quiet,  and  they 
looked  up  from  the  pages  now  and  then  to  smile, 
perhaps  a  little  sadly,  at  one  another.  When  the 
dinner  was  announced  Hilda  said,  as  they  went  into 
the  dining-room — 

"  If  your  courage  fails  you,  just  say  so  frankly. 
I  have  very  childish  tastes  and  childish  fare." 

Indeed,  half  a  cold  chicken  and  a  dish  of  rice 
constituted  the  repast.  A  bottle  of  claret  stood  by 
Odd's  place,  and  there  was  a  white  jar  filled  with 
buttercups  on  the  table ;  but  even  Rosalie  seemed 
depressed  by  the  air  of  meagreness,  and  gave  them 
a  rather  effarf  glance  as  they  sat  down.  Odd  sus- 
pected that  the  cold  chicken  was  in  his  honor.  He 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Hilda  was  capable 
of  dining  off  rice  alone. 

15  225 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Delightful !  "  he  said.  The  chicken  and  rice 
were  indeed  very  good,  but  Hilda  saw  that  he  ate 
very  little. 

"  I  make  no  further  apologies,"  she  said,  smiling 
at  him  over  the  buttercups ;  "  your  hunger  be  upon 
your  own  head." 

"  I  am  not  hungry,  dear." 

Hilda  had  to  do  most  of  the  talking,  but  they 
were  both  rather  silent.  It  was  a  happy  silence  to 
Hilda,  full  of  a  loving  trust. 

When  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  voice  of  the  same 
gentle  fatigue  that  his  eyes  showed  ;  but  as  the  eyes 
rested  upon  her  she  felt  that  the  past  and  the  present 
had  surely  joined  hands. 

226 


CHAPTER  X 

ODD  went  in  the  same  half-dreamy  condition 
through  the  morning  of  the  next  day.  He 
walked  and  read,  but  where  he  walked  and  what  he 
read  he  could  hardly  have  told. 

He  was  to  fetch  Hilda  from  the  Rue  d'Assas  and 
go  home  to  tea  and  dinner  with  her.  His  love  for 
Hilda  had  now  reached  such  solemn  heights  that 
his  late  flight  seemed  degrading. 

So  loving  her,  he  could  not  be  base. 

The  Rue  d'Assas  was  dreary  in  a  fine  drizzling 
rain.  In  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  the  first  young 
green  made  a  mist  upon  the  trees. 

It  was  only  half-past  four  when  Odd  reached  his 
accustomed  post,  but  hardly  had  he  taken  a  turn 
up  and  down  the  street  when  he  saw  Hilda  come 
quickly  from  the  Lebon  abode.  She  was  fully  half- 
an-hour  early,  but  Odd  had  merely  time  to  note 
the  fact  before  seeing  in  a  flash  that  Hilda  was  in 
trouble.  She  looked,  she  almost  ran  toward  him ; 
and  he  met  her  half-way  with  outstretched  hands. 

"O  Peter!"  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  used 
his  name,  and  Odd's  heart  leaped  as  her  hands 
caught  his  with  a  sort  of  desperate  relief.  "  Come, 
come,"  she  said,  taking  his  arm.  "  Let  us  go 
quickly."  Peter's  heart  after  its  leap  began  to 
thump  fast.  The  white  distress  of  her  face  gave 
227 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

him  a  dizzy  shock  of  anger.  What,  who  had  dis- 
tressed her?  He  asked  the  question  as  they 
crossed  the  road  and  entered  the  gardens.  Tears 
now  streamed  down  her  face. 

He  had  only  once  before  seen  Hilda  weep,  and 
as  she  hung  shaken  with  sobs  on  his  arm,  the  past 
child,  the  present  Hilda  merged  into  one ;  his  one, 
his  only  love. 

"  Let  us  walk  here,  dear,"  he  said  ;  "  you  will  be 
quieter." 

The  little  path  down  which  they  turned  was 
empty,  and  the  fine  rain  enveloped  but  hardly  wet 
them.  They  came  to  a  bench  under  a  tree,  circled 
by  an  unwet  area  of  sanded  path.  Odd  led  the 
weeping  girl  to  it  and  they  sat  down.  She  still  held 
his  arm  tightly. 

"  Now,  what  is  it?  " 

"  O  Peter  !  I  can  hardly  tell  you  !  The  brother, 
the  horrible  brother." 

"Yes?"  Peter  felt  the  accumulations  of  rage 
that  had  been  gathering  for  months  hurrying  for- 
ward to  spring  upon,  to  pulverize  "  the  brother." 

"  He  made  love  to  me,  said  awful  things !  "  Odd 
whitened  to  the  lips. 

"  Tell  me  all  you  can." 

"  I  wish  I  were  dead !  "  sobbed  Hilda,  "  I  am  so 
unhappy." 

Peter  did  not  trust  himself  to  speak ;  he  took  her 
hand  and  held  it  to  his  lips. 

"Yes;  you  care,"  said  Hilda.     She  drew  herself 

up   and   wiped    her   eyes.     "  I   never  thought    he 

would  be  unpleasant.     At  times  I  fancied  that  he 

came  a  good  deal  into  the  studio  where  we  worked 

228 


HILDA 

and,  behind  his  sister's  back,  looked  silly.  But  he 
never  really  annoyed  me.  I  thought  myself  un- 
kindly suspicious.  To-day  Mademoiselle  Lebon 
was  called  away  and  he  came  in.  I  went  on  paint- 
ing. I  did  not  dream — !  When,  suddenly  he 
put  his  arms  around  me — and  tried  to  kiss  me !  " 
Hilda  gave  an  hysterical  laugh.  "  Do  you  know,  I 
had  my  palette  on  my  hand,  and  I  gave  him  a  great 
blow  with  it !  You  should  have  seen  his  head  ! 
Oh,  to  think  that  I  can  find  that  funny  now !  His 
ear  was  covered  with  cobalt !  "  Hilda  sobbed 
again,  even  while  she  laughed.  "  He  was  very  angry 
and  horrible.  I  said  I  would  call  his  mother  and 
sister  if  he  did  not  leave  me  at  once,  and  then — 
and  then  " — Hilda  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands 
— "  he  jeered  at  me  ;  '  You  must  n't  play  the  prude,' 
he  said." 

Odd  clenched  his  teeth. 

"  Hilda,  dear,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  cold  to  severity, 
"  you  must  go  home ;  I  will  put  you  in  a  cab.  I 
will  come  to  you  as  soon  as  I  have  punished  that 
dog." 

"  Peter,  don't !  I  beg  of  you  to  come  with  me. 
You  can  do  nothing.  I  must  bury  it,  forget  it." 
She  had  risen  as  he  rose. 

"  Yes,  bury  it,  forget  it,  Hilda.  He,  at  least,  shall 
never  forget  it." 

Odd's  fixed  look  as  he  led  her  into  the  street 
forced  her  to  helpless  silence. 

"  Peter,  please ! "  she  breathed,  clasping  her 
hands  together  and  gazing  at  him  as  he  hailed  a 
fiacre. 

"  I  will  come  to  you  soon.     Good-bye." 
229 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

And  so  Hilda  was  driven  away. 

It  was  past  six  when  Odd  reached  the  Rue 
Pierre  Charron.  Rosalie  opened  the  door.  Madame 
was  in  bed,  she  had  had  a  bad  day.  Mademoiselle  ? 
she  is  lying  down.  She  seemed  ill.  "  Et  bien 
malade  m$me"  and  had  said  that  she  wanted  no 
dinner. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her,  if  only  for  a  moment ; 
she  will  see  me,  I  think,"  said  Odd,  walking  into 
the  drawing-room.  Hilda  entered  almost  imme- 
diately. 

She  had  been  crying,  and  the  disorder  of  her 
hair  suggested  that  she  had  cried  with  her  head 
buried  in  a  pillow,  after  the  stifled  feminine  fashion. 
Her  face  was  most  pathetically  disfigured  by  tears  ; 
the  disfigurement  almost  charming  of  youth  and 
loveliness  ;  but  she  looked  ill,  too.  The  white  cheek 
and  the  heavy  eyelids,  the  unsteady  sweetness  of 
her  lips  showed  that  an  extreme  of  physical  exhaus- 
tion, as  well  as  the  tempest  of  grief,  had  swept  her 
beyond  all  thought  of  self-control,  beyond  all  wish 
for  it.  The  afternoon's  unpleasantness  had  been 
merely  the  last  straw.  The  long  endurance  of  the 
past  month — the  past  months  indeed — that  had 
asked  no  pity,  had  been  hardly  conscious  of  a  claim 
on  pity — was  transformed  by  her  knowledge  of  near 
love  and  sympathy  to  a  quivering  sensibility.  There 
was  no  reticence  in  her  glance.  He  was  the  one 
she  turned  to,  the  one  she  trusted,  the  only  one 
who  understood  and  loved  her  in  the  whole  world. 
Odd  saw  all  this  as  the  supreme  confidence  of  a 
supremely  reserved  nature  looked  at  him  from  her 
eyes. 

230 


HILDA 

He  met  her,  stooping  his  head  to  hers,  and,  like 
a  child,  she  put  up  her  face  to  be  kissed.  When  he 
had  kissed  her,  he  drew  back.  A  sudden  horrible 
weakness  almost  overcame  him. 

"  Sit  down,  dear ;  no,  I  will  walk  about  a  bit.  I 
have  been  playing  the  fiery  jeune  premier  to  such 
an  extent  this  afternoon  that  dramatic  restlessness 
is  in  keeping." 

Hilda  smiled  faintly,  and  her  eyes  followed  him 
as  he  took  a  few  turns  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  You  look  so  badly,"  he  said,  pausing  before  her ; 
"  how  do  you  feel  ?  " 

"  Not  myself ;  or,  perhaps,  too  much  myself." 
Hilda  tried  to  smile,  stretching  out  her  arms  with 
a  long  shaken  sigh.  "  I  feel  weak  and  foolish,"  she 
added,  clasping  her  hands  on  her  knee. 

"  It  is  all  right,  you  know.  He  apologized  pro- 
fusely." 

"  How  did  you  make  him  do  that  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  the  truth,  including  the  fact  of  his 
own  despicableness." 

"  And  he  believed  it?  " 

"  I  helped  him  to  the  belief  by  a  pretty  thorough 
thrashing." 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  Hilda. 

"  He  deserved  it,  dear." 

"  But — I  had  exposed  myself  to  it ;  he  thought 
himself  justified." 

"  I  had  to  disabuse  him  of  that  thought.  He 
bawled  out  something  like  a  challenge  under  the 
salutary  lesson,  but  when  I  promptly  seconded  the 
suggestion — insisted  on  the  extreme  satisfaction  it 
would  give  me  to  have  a  shot  at  him — the  bourgeois 
231 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

Strain  came  out.  He  fairly  whined.  I  was  dis- 
appointed. I  had  bloodthirsty  desires." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  glad  he  whined  then  !  Don't 
speak  of  such  horrors.  You  know  I  am  hysterical." 

Odd  still  stood  before  her,  and  Hilda  put  out  her 
hand. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  ?  "  He  put  her  hand  to  his 
lips,  not  looking  at  her  but  down  at  the  heavy  folds 
of  her  white  dress  ;  it  had  a  shroud-like  look  that 
gave  him  a  shudder.  Hilda's  life  seemed  shroud- 
like,  shutting  her  out  from  all  brightness,  from  all 
love — love  hers  by  right,  and  only  hers. 

"  You  know,  you  know  that  I  would  do  anything 
for  you,"  he  said. 

The  hand  he  kissed  drew  him  down  beside  her, 
hardly  consciously,  and  he  yielded  to  the  longing 
he  felt  in  her  for  comforting  kindness  and  nearness ; 
yielded,  too,  to  his  own  growing  weakness  ;  but 
he  still  held  the  hand  to  his  lips,  not  daring  to  look 
at  her.  This  childlike  trust,  this  dependence,  were 
dreadful.  The  long  kiss  seemed  to  his  troubled 
soul  a  momentary  shield.  He  found  her  eyes  on 
him  when  he  raised  his  own. 

"  I  never  thought  it  would  come  true — in  this 
way,"  she  said. 

"  What  come  true  ?  " 

"  That  you  would  really  care  for  me," 

Her  pure  look  seemed  to  flutter  to  him,  to  fold 
peaceful  wings  on  his  breast  ;  its  very  contentment 
constituted  a  caress.  The  child  was  still  a  child, 
and  yet  in  the  look  there  were  worlds  of  ignorant 
revelation.  A  shock  of  possibilities  made  Odd 
dizzy,  and  the  certain  strain  of  weakness  in  him 
232 


HILDA 

made  it  impossible  for  him  to  warn  and  protect  her 
ignorance. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  quick  grasp  at  the  tran- 
scendental friendship  of  which  alone  she  was  aware. 

"  My  little  friend,  I  care  for  you  dearly,  dearly." 
But  with  the  words,  his  hold  on  the  transcendental 
friendship  slipped,  fundamental  truths  surged  up ; 
he  took  both  her  hands,  and  clasping  them  on  his 
breast,  said,  hardly  conscious  of  his  words — 

"  Sweetest,  noblest — dearest,"  with  an  emotion 
only  too  contagious,  for  Hilda's  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  The  sight  of  these  tears,  her  weakness,  the 
horrible  unfairness  of  her  position,  appealed,  even 
at  this  moment,  to  all  his  manliness.  He  controlled 
himself  from  taking  her  into  his  arms,  and  his  grasp 
on  her  hands  held  her  from  him. 

"  I  understand,  Hilda,  I  understand  it  all — all 
you  have  suffered  ;  the  loneliness,  the  injustice,  the 
dreary  drudgery.  I  know,  dear,  I  know  that  you 
have  been  unhappy." 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  have  been  unhappy  !  so  unhappy  !  " 
The  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks  while  she  spoke, 
fell  on  Odd's  hands  clasping  hers.  "  No  one  ever 
cared  for  me,  no  one.  Papa,  mamma,  Katherine 
even,  not  really  ;  is  n't  it  cruel,  cruel  ?  "  This  self- 
pity,  so  uncharacteristic,  showing,  as  it  did  the 
revulsion  in  her  whole  nature,  filled  Odd  with  a 
sort  of  helpless  terror.  "  That  is  what  I  wanted  ; 
some  one  to  care  ;  I  thought  it  must  be  my  fault." 
The  words  came  in  sighing  breaths,  incoherent : 
"  I  have  been  so  lonely." 

"  My  child  !    My  poor,  poor  child  !  " 

"  Let  me  tell  you  everything.  I  must  tell  you 
233 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

now  since  you  care  for  me.  I  have  been  so  fond  of 
you — always.  You  remember  when  I  was  a  child  ?  " 
Odd  held  her  hands  tightly  and  mechanically. 
Poor  little  hands  ;  they  gave  him  the  feeling  of  light 
spars  clung  to  in  a  whirling  shipwreck.  "  Even  then 
I  was  lonely,  I  see  that  now ;  and  even  then  it 
weighed  upon  me,  that  thought  that  I  was  not  to  the 
people  I  loved  what  they  were  to  me.  I  felt  no  in- 
justice. I  must  be  unworthy.  It  seems  to  me  that 
all  my  life  I  have  struggled  to  make  people  love  me, 
to  make  them  take  me  near  to  them.  But  you  ! 
You  were  near  at  once.  Do  I  explain  ?  It  sounds 
morbid,  does  n't  it  ?  But  it  isn't,  for  my  loneliness 
was  almost  unconscious,  and  I  merely  felt  that  with 
you  I  was  happy,  that  things  were  clear,  that  you 
understood  everything.  You  did,  didn't  you  ? 
Only  I  don't  think  you  ever  quite  understood  my 
gratitude,  my  utter  devotion  to  you."  Hilda's 
tears  had  ceased  as  she  went  on  speaking,  and 
she  smiled  now  at  Odd,  a  quivering  smile. 

"  And  then  you  went  away,  and  I  never  saw  you 
again.  Ah  !  I  can't  tell  you  what  I  suffered." 

Odd  bent  his  head  upon  the  hands  clasped  in  his. 

"  But  how  could  you  have  known  ?  "  said  Hilda 
tenderly ;  "  I  was  really  very  silly  and  very  unrea- 
sonable. I  thought  you  would  come  back  because  I 
needed  you.  I  needed  the  sunshine.  Perhaps  you 
were  right  about  the  shadow.  But  for  years  I 
waited  for  you.  I  felt  sure  you  knew  I  was  waiting. 
You  said  you  would  come  back  you  know  ;  I  never 
forgot  that."  She  paused  a  moment :  "  It  all  ended 
in  Florence,"  she  went  on  sadly  ;  "  such  a  bleak, 
bitter  day,  just  the  day  for  burying  an  illusion.  I 
234 


HILDA 

see  the  cold  emptiness  of  the  big  room  now  ;  oh ! 
the  melancholy  of  it !  where  I  was  sitting  alone. 
All  came  upon  me  suddenly,  the  reality.  You  know 
those  crumbling  shocks  of  reality.  I  realized  that 
I  had  waited  for  something  that  could  never  come  ; 
that  you  had  never  really  understood,  and  that  it 
would  have  been  impossible  for  you  to  understand. 
I  was  a  pretty,  touching  little  incident  to  you,  and 
you  were  everything  to  me.  I  realized,  too,  how 
silly  it  would  all  seem  to  any  one ;  how  it  would  be 
misinterpreted  and  smiled  at  as  a  case  of  puppy-love 
perhaps.  A  sort  of  cold  shame  crept  through  me, 
and  I  felt  really  alone  then.  Do  you  know  what 
that  feeling  is?"  Her  hand  under  his  forehead 
lifted  his  head  a  little  as  though  to  question  his  face, 
but  putting  both  her  hands  over  his  eyes  he  would 
not  look  at  her. 

"You  are  so  sorry?"  Odd  nodded.  "But  you 
have  had  that  feeling?  Imprisoned  in  oneself; 
looking,  longing  for  a  voice,  a  smile, — and  silence, 
always,  always  silence.  A  thing  quite  apart  from 
the  surface  intercourse  of  everyday  life,  not  touched 
by  it.  You  have  so  many  friends,  so  many  windows 
in  your  prison,  you  can't  know." 

"  I  know." 

"  Really  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  And  you  call  out  for  help  and  no  one  hears. 
Oh,  I  can't  explain  properly  ;  do  you  understand  ?" 

"  I  understand,  dear." 

"  Well,  after  that  day  in  Florence,  the  last  cranny 
of  my  prison  seemed  walled  up.  And— oh,  then  our 
troubles  came,  worse  and  worse.  Responsibilities 
235 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

braced  me  up — far  healthier,  of  course.  And  your 
books  !  Their  strength  ;  their  philosophy — don't 
tell  me  I  might  find  it  all  in  Marcus  Aurelius  ;  your 
way  of  saying  it  went  more  deeply  in  me.  Just  to 
do  one's  duty  ;  to  love  people  and  be  sorry  for  them, 
and  not  snivel  over  oneself.  Ah !  if  you  knew  all 
your  books  had  been  to  me !  Would  you  like  it,  I 
wonder  ?  "  Again  the  tenderness,  almost  playful, 
in  her  voice.  Odd  raised  his  head  and  looked  at 
her. 

"  And  when  I  came  at  last,  what  did  you  think  ?  " 

The  loving  candor  of  her  eyes  dwelt  on  him. 

"  When  you  came  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Then  I  saw 
at  once  that  you  were  Katherine's  friend,  and  that 
your  books  were  the  nearest  I  should  ever  get  to 
you."  Hilda's  voice  hesitated  a  little  ;  a  doubt  of 
the  exactitude  of  her  perceptions  from  this  point 
showed  itself  in  a  certain  perplexity  of  tone.  "And 
— I  don't  quite  understand  myself,  for  I  did  n't  plan 
anything — but  just  because  I  felt  so  much  I  was 
afraid  that  you  would  imagine  I  made  claims  on 
you.  I  was  resolved  that  you  should  see  that  I  had 
reached  your  standpoint — that  I  had  forgotten — 
that  the  present  had  no  connection  with  the  past." 

"  But  I  had  not  forgotten,"  Odd  groaned. 

"No?"  Hilda  smiled  rather  lightly;  "it  would 
have  been  very  strange  if  you  had  n't.  Besides,  as  I 
say,  I  saw  at  once  that  you  were  Katherine's,  and 
that  it  was  right  and  natural.  Your  books  taught 
me,  too,  the  true  peace  of  renunciation,  you  see ! 
Not  that  this  called  for  renunciation  exactly,"  and 
again  Hilda  paused  with  the  faint  look  of  perplexity. 
"There  was  nothing  to  renounce  since  you  were 
236 


HILDA 

hers,  except  I  must  have  felt  a  certain  disappoint- 
ment. I  felt  a  little  frozen.  Such  dull  egotism  !  " 
She  turned  her  eyes  away,  looking  vaguely  out  into 
the  dusky  room.  "  But  even  on  that  first  day  I 
meant  that  you  should  see,  and  that  she  should  see, 
that  I  knew  that  the  past  made  no  bond :  in  my 
heart  it  might,  not  in  yours,  I  knew,  for  all  your 
kindness." 

"  Go  on,  Hilda,"  said  Odd,  as  she  paused. 

"  Well,  you  know  all  the  rest.  When  you  were 
engaged  and  she  more  than  friend,  I  had  hoped  for 
it,  and  I  saw  that  my  turn  might  come ;  that  I 
might  step  into  Kathy's  vacated  shoes,  so  to  speak ; 
that  we  might  be  friends,  and  all  my  dreams  be  ful- 
filled after  all.  I  began  then  to  let  myself  know 
that  I  did  care,  for  I  had  tried  to  help  myself  before 
by  pretending  that  I  did  n't.  I  would  n't  do  any- 
thing to  make  you  like  me.  If  you  were  to  like  me, 
you  would  of  yourself ;  all  the  joy  of  having  you 
care  for  me  would  be  in  having  made  no  effort. 
And  the  dream  did  come  true.  I  saw  more  and 
more  that  you  cared.  To-day  I  feel  it,  like  sun- 
shine." Odd  still  stared  at  her,  and  again  through 
sudden  tears  she  smiled  at  him.  "Only — isn't  it 
strange  ? — things  are  always  so  ;  it  must  be,  too, 
that  I  am  weak,  overwrought,  for  I  feel  so  sad,  as 
though  I  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  looking 
up  through  it  at  the  sun." 

"  Great  heavens  !  "  muttered  Odd.  He  looked  at 
her  for  a  silent  moment,  then  suddenly  putting  his 
arm  around  her  neck,  he  drew  her  to  him. 

He  did  not  kiss  her,  but  he  said,  leaning  his  head 
against  hers — 

237 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"And  I — so  unworthy!  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Hilda,  and  with  a  little  sigh,  "  not 
unworthy,  dear  Peter." 

"  I,  dully  stumbling  about  your  exquisite  soul," 
Peter  went  on,  pressing  her  head  more  closely  to 
his.  "Ah,  Hilda!  Hilda!" 

"  What,  dear  friend  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  Unkind  ;  I  tell  you  everything." 

"  You  can  tell  me  everything.  You  can  tell  me 
how  much  you  have  cared  for  me,  how  much  you 
care.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  care.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  infinitely  dear  you  are  to  me."  He 
had  spoken,  her  face  hidden  from  him  in  its  near- 
ness ;  now,  turning  his  head  he  kissed  her  hair,  and 
frowning,  he  looked  at  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 
Hilda  drew  back  and  rose  to  her  feet.  A  subtle 
change,  perplexity  deepened,  crossed  her  face,  but, 
standing  before  him,  she  looked  down  at  him  and  he 
saw  that  her  trust  rose  as  to  a  test.  She  put  her 
hands  out  as  though  from  an  impulse  to  lay  them 
on  his  shoulders  ;  then,  as  an  instinct  within  the  im- 
pulse seemed  to  warn  her,  though  leaving  her  clear 
look  untouched,  she  clasped  them  together  and  said 
gravely — 

"  You  may  tell  me.    You  are  infinitely  dear  to  me." 

Odd  still  frowned.  Her  terrible  innocence  gave 
him  a  sense  of  helpless  baseness. 

"I  may  tell  you  how  much  I  love  you?"  and  he 
too  rose  and  stood  before  her. 

"  I  have  always  loved  you,"  said  Hilda,  with  her 
grave  look.  "  I  love  you  now  as  much  as  I  did 
when  I  was  a  child." 

238 


HILDA 

The  Impossible  height  where  she  placed  him  be- 
side her  made  Odd's  head  swim.  He  felt  himself 
caught  up  for  a  moment  into  the  purity  of  her  eyes, 
and  looking  into  them  he  came  close  to  her. 

"  My  angel !     My  angel !  "  he  hardly  breathed. 

"  Dear  Peter,"  and  the  tears  came  into  the  pure 
eyes.  And,  at  the  sight,  the  heaven  brimmed  with 
loveliest  human  weakness,  the  love  unconscious  but 
all  revealed,  Odd  was  conscious  only  of  a  dizzy 
descent  from  impossibility,  the  crash  of  the  inevi- 
table. 

One  step  and  he  had  taken  her  into  his  arms, 
seeing  as  he  did  so,  in  a  flash,  the  white  wonder  of 
her  face  ;  he  could  almost  have  smiled  at  it — divinely 
dull  creature  !  Holding  her  closely,  the  white  folds 
of  the  shroud-like  dress  crushed  against  his  breast, 
his  cheek  upon  her  hair,  he  could  not  kiss  her  and 
he  could  not  speak,  and  in  a  silence  as  unmistak- 
able as  word  or  kiss,  his  long  embrace  forgot  the 
past  and  defied  the  future. 

The  painful  image  of  a  bird  he  had  once  seen, 
wings  broken,  dying  of  a  shot  and  feebly  fluttering, 
came  to  him  as  he  felt  her  stir ;  her  hands  pushing 
him  away. 

"  Dearest — dearest — dearest." 

Her  effort  faltered  to  resistless  helplessness. 

Stooping  his  head  he  looked  at  her  face ;  it  wore 
an  almost  tranquil,  a  corpse-like  look.  Her  eyes 
were  closed  and  the  eyebrows  drawn  up  a  little  in 
a  faint,  fixed  frown ;  but  the  childlike  line  of  her 
mouth  had  all  the  sad  passivity  of  death.  Odd 
tremblingly  kissed  the  gentle  sternness  of  the  lips. 

She  loved  him,  but  how  cruel  he  was. 
239 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  Oh,  my  precious,"  he  said,  "  look  at  me.  For- 
give me  ;  I  love  you." 

He  had  freed  her  hands,  and  she  raised  them  and 
bent  her  face  upon  them. 

"  You  don't  hate  me  for  telling  you  the  truth  ?  " 
And  as  she  made  no  sign  :  "  No,  no,  you  don't  hate 
me  ;  you  love  me  and  I  love  you.  I  have  loved  you 
from  the  beginning.  Oh,  my  child,  my  child,  why 
did  you  let  me  think  you  did  not  care  ?  Look  at 
me,  dearest." 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  said  Hilda.  She  still  kept 
her  face  hidden  in  her  hands. 

"  You  have  done  nothing ;  it  is  I,  I  who  have 
done  it ! " 

"  I  never  could  have  believed  it  of  you,"  she  said, 
and  he  felt  it  to  be  the  simple  statement  of  a  fact. 

"  O  Hilda — I  have  only  told  you  the  truth,  that 
is  my  crime." 

"  You  told  me  because  of  what  I  said  ?  You  love 
me  because  of  what  I  said  ?  " 

"  Good  God  !  I  have  been  madly  in  love  with 
you  for  months! " 

"  For  months?"  she  repeated  dully, 
i     "  For  years,  perhaps,  who  knows  !  " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  I — that  you — " 

"  You  knew  nothing,  my  poor  angel." 

He  enfolded  her  again.  Her  look  seemed  to 
stumble  and  grope  for  an  entreaty  ;  her  very  power- 
lessness  in  the  grasp  of  her  realized  love  enchanted 
him. 

"  How  base !  how  base  !  "  she  moaned. 

"Am  I  a  cruel  brute?     Ah!  Hilda,  you  love  me, 
and  I  cannot  help  myself." 
240 


HILDA 

"  No — you  cannot  help  yourself.  I  love  you  and 
I  told  you  so." 

" You  did  not  mean  this" 

"  I  did  not  mean  it.  Oh,  I  trusted  you.  I  did 
not  doubt  myself.  I  am  wicked."  The  strange  re- 
vulsion from  her  long  selflessness  had  reached  its 
height  in  poor  Hilda  ;  but,  in  her  eyes,  the  discov- 
ered self  was  indeed  wicked,  a  terrible  revelation. 

Her  head  fell  helplessly  against  his  shoulder. 

"  O  Peter,  Peter  !  " 

"  What,  my  darling  child  ?  " 

"  That  we  should  be  so  base  !  " 

"  Not  we,  Hilda.     Not  you  !  " 

"Yes,  I — for  I  am  happy — think  of  it,  happy! 
Peter,  I  love  you  so  much."  She  wept,  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder.  "  Keep  me  for  a  moment,  only 
a  moment  longer.  As  I  am  wicked,  let  me  have  the 
good  of  it.  I  am  glad  that  you  love  me.  No; 
don't  kiss  me.  Tell  me  again  that  you  have  loved 
me  for  a  long  time." 

"  From  the  moment  I  saw  you  again,  I  think.  I 
knew  it  when  I  began  meeting  you  after  your  les- 
sons. Do  you  remember  that  first  day  in  the  rain  ? 
I  do ;  and  your  little  hat  with  the  bow  on  it,  the 
hole  in  your  little  glove,  your  white  little  face.  I 
went  away  to  the  South  because  I  could  not  trust 
myself  with  you.  I  did  not  dream  that  you  loved 
me,  but  I  felt— ah !  I  felt— that  I  could  have  made 
you  love  me  !  " 

"  And  yet — you  loved  Katherine  !  " 

The  anguish  of  the  broken  words  pierced  him. 

"  Hilda,  you  cannot  find  me  baser  than  I    find 
myself.     I  did  not  love  her." 
1 6  241 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"Peter!  Peter!" 

"  Believe  me,  my  precious  child,  when  I  tell  you 
that  you  are  the  only  one — my  only  love  !  " 

"  O  Peter  !  " 

"  I  never  thought  that  I  loved  Katherine,  but  I 
had  no  fear  of  injustice  to  her,  for  I  never  thought 
that  love  would  come  into  my  life ;  and,  hardly  was 
the  cruel  stupidity  consummated,  when  the  truth 
crept  upon  me.  Friendly  comradeship  on  the  one 
hand,  and  on  the  other — O  Hilda ! — a  passion  that 
has  transformed  my  life.  The  truth  fell  upon  you 
like  a  thunderbolt  ;  my  love  for  you  crashed  in  upon 
your  heavenly  dreaming;  but  you  see — be  brave 
enough  to  acknowledge  what  it  all  means,  your 
dream  and  my  love  that  needed  no  thunderbolt  to 
wake  it, — be  brave  enough  to  own  that  it  is  inevi- 
table, that  from  the  time  that  you  put  your  hand  in 
mine  ten  years  ago,  dated  that  rarest,  that  divinest 
thing,  a  love,  a  sympathy  infinite.  Dear  child,  be 
brave  enough  to  own  that  before  it,  mistakes  may 
be  put  aside  without  dishonor." 

"  Peter,  Peter,  let  me  go.  Without  dishonor ! 
We  are  both  already  dishonorable,  and  oh  !  it  is  that 
that  breaks  my  heart ;  that  you,  that  you  who 
should  have  helped  me,  protected  me  from  the  folly 
of  my  ignorance,  that  you  should  be  dishonorable ! " 

"O  Hilda!" 

"  Yes,"  she  said  wildly,  "  yes,  yes,  Peter ;  and  I 
am  wicked — wicked,  for  I  love  you.  Yes — kiss  me  ; 
there,  now  I  am  thoroughly  wicked.  Now  let  me 

go-" 

Odd,  white  and  shaken,  still  locked  his  arms 
about  her. 

242 


HILDA 

"  I  was  base  if  you  will,  too  base  for  your  loveli- 
ness ;  but  you,  my  darling,  have  not  a  shadow  on 
you  ;  you  were  impossibly  noble.  Remember,  that 
if  there  is  dishonor,  I  am  dishonored,  not  you ; 
remember  that  /  have  done  this !  " 

As  he  spoke,  holding  Hilda  in  his  arms,  the  door 
opened  and  Katherine  entered. 
243 


CHAPTER  XI 

T^ATHERINE  closed  the  door  swiftly  behind 
_L  X.  her  and  looked  at  them,  not  with  a  horror  of 
surprise  for  the  betrayal,  but  a  strange,  stiffened 
look.  She  had  on  her  travelling  hat  and  coat,  a 
wrap  on  her  arm,  and  the  thumping  of  her  boxes 
was  heard  outside  on  the  stairs. 

Katherine  had  schemed  and  success  was  hers, 
but  this  unlooked-for  achievement  struck  her  like 
a  dagger  and  made  triumph  bitter. 

Fate  had  played  for  her ;  Fate  and  not  she  was 
the  heroine.  Katherine  felt  herself  struck  down 
from  her  masterly  eminence,  saw  herself  reduced  to 
a  miserable  position,  a  tool  with  the  other  tools — 
Peter  and  Hilda. 

To  see  Hilda  thus  was  an  undreamed-of  shatter- 
ing of  ideals  and  pierced  even  her  own  humiliation, 
for  Katherine  almost  unconsciously  had  looked  up 
to  Hilda.  She  was  to  use  her,  play  her  game  with 
her,  but  for  Hilda's  own  advantage ;  she,  not  Fate, 
was  to  put  her  in  Peter's  arms,  unspotted  and  in- 
nocent of  the  combinations  that  had  led  her  there. 
All  Katherine's  plans  in  England  had  prospered 
and,  in  Paris,  a  nobly  frank  part  awaited  her. 
Avowal  to  Peter  of  incompatibility,  her  generous 
perception  of  his  love  for  Hilda — a  brave,  manlike 
part — to  which  she  had  looked  forward  as  to  an 
244 


HILDA 

atonement  for  the  ulterior  motives.  And  Katherine 
had  almost  persuaded  herself  that  there  would  be 
little  acting  needed.  Had  she  not  seen,  guessed, 
the  truth  ?  Had  the  truth  not  pained  her,  humili- 
ated her?  Had  she  not  risen  finely  above  her  pain 
and  wished  them  happiness?  In  moments  of  self- 
scorn,  the  ulterior  motives,  her  own  cautious  look 
before  leaping,  had  filled  her  with  impatient  scorch- 
ings,  and  Katherine  could  scorch  herself  as  well 
as  others  in  the  pitiless  flame  of  clear-sighted  an- 
alysis. But  was  her  own  rebellion  from  the  irksome 
standards  of  a  higher  nature — a  rebellion  that  had 
carried  her  into  such  opposition  as  to  fall  below  her- 
self to  a  hard  matter-of-fact  ambition,  touched  with 
a  sense  of  revenge  upon  her  own  disappointment, 
— was  that  rebellion,  that  ambition,  so  base,  so 
pitiful  ? 

Perhaps  even  the  clearest  analysis  becomes  so- 
phistical if  carried  too  far,  and  Katherine  found  ex- 
cuses that  explained  for  herself.  But  now  all  was 
base,  all  pitiful,  and  she,  in  contrast  with  Hilda's 
fall,  had  risen.  On  this  lowered  platform,  the  ad- 
vantage was  hers,  terribly  hers,  and  it  was  good, 
good  to  lose  self-scorn  in  her  scorn  for  them. 

She  laid  down  her  wrap  on  a  table  and  began  to 
slowly  draw  off  her  gloves. 

"  My  return  was  inopportune."  The  icy  steadi- 
ness of  her  voice  pleased  her  own  sense  of  fitness. 
"Or  opportune?"  She  directed  her  eyes  upon 
Odd,  and  indeed  his  attitude  assumed  all  the  igno- 
bility  of  the  situation.  He  welcomed  responsibility ; 
to  heap  shame  upon  his  own  head  was  all  he  prayed 
for.  With  a  kind  of  desperate  sincerity  he  kept  his 
245 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

arm  around  Hilda,  and  almost  defiantly  he  had 
placed  himself  before  her ;  he  felt  that  Hilda's  look 
of  frozen  horror  gave  him  the  advantage. 

"  Opportune,  Katherine,"  he  said  ;  "  now  at  least 
I  shall  not  have  to  lie  to  you.  You  can  see  the 
whole  extent  of  my  baseness." 

"  Such  sudden  baseness  too.  How  long  have  we 
been  engaged  ?  " 

It  was  good  to  turn  on  him  those  daggers  of  her 
own  humiliation  ;  to  feel  his  disloyalty  justify  hers, 
nay,  more  than  justify,  give  absolution,  for  she  had 
not  been  disloyal,  thinking  he  loved  her. 

"  Katherine,"  said  Odd,  "  I  can  only  beg  you  to 
believe  that  I  have  struggled — for  your  sake,  for  her 
sake.  Until  this  evening  I  thought  that  neither  of 
you  would  ever  know  the  truth." 

This  bracketing  of  Hilda's  injury  with  hers  stank 
in  Katherine's  nostrils.  She  controlled  a  quivering 
rage  that  ran  through  her,  and,  speaking  a  little 
more  slowly  for  the  tension  she  put  upon  herself — 

"  I  can  imagine  no  greater  humiliation  than  the 
one  you  were  so  chivalrously  preparing  for  me," 
she  said.  "  Marriage  with  an  unloving  man  !  I 
can  imagine  nothing  more  insulting.  I  deserved 
the  truth  from  you,  and  how  dared  you  think  of 
degrading  me  by  withholding  it?"  The  white  in- 
dignation of  her  own  words  almost  impressed  Kath- 
erine with  their  sincerity.  She  had  seen  the  truth, 
and  Peter's  futile  efforts  to  withhold  it  from  her  had 
filled  her  with  an  almost  kindly  scorn  for  his  stupid- 
ity. But  in  the  light  of  his  present  relapse  from 
fidelity,  the  retrospect  grew  lurid. 

"  Katherine,"  said  Odd  gloomily,  "  I  would  not  so 
246 


HILDA 

have  insulted  you  after  this.  As  long  as  I  kept  my 
secret  there  would  have  been  no  insult." 

"  I  think  I  should  have  preferred  the  jilting  before. 
You  might  have  waited,  Peter." 

Until  now  Katherine  had  steadily  kept  her  eyes 
on  Odd,  and  there  had  been  growing  in  her  a  certain 
sense  of  loss,  most  illogical,  most  painful.  Hilda  had 
won,  and  she  had  never  gained.  Katherine  hardly 
knew  for  jealousy  the  sudden  desire  for  vengeance 
as  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  her  sister. 

"  So  at  last  your  long  fidelity  has  been  rewarded, 
Hilda,"  she  said. 

Hilda's  wild  wide  gaze,  her  parted  lips  of  mute 
agony,  gave  her  the  stricken  look  of  a  miserable  ani- 
mal with  the  fangs  of  a  pack  of  hounds  at  its  throat. 
Odd  sickened  at  the  sight ;  it  maddened  him  too, 
and  long  resentments,  long  kept  under,  sprang  up 
fierce  and  indifferent  to  cruelty. 

"  Katherine,  say  anything — anything  you  will  to 
me,"  and  Odd's  voice  broke  a  little  as  he  spoke, 
"  but  not  one  word  to  her !  Not  one  word  !  It 
comes  badly  from  you,  Katherine,  badly  ;  for  you 
have  played  the  vampire  with  the  rest  of  them  ! 
This  child  has  given  you  all  her  very  life."  He 
held  Hilda  to  him  as  he  spoke  ;  his  look,  his  gesture 
those  of  a  man  driven  to  fury  by  the  hint  of  an 
attack  on  his  best  beloved  ;  and  Katherine,  her  head 
bent,  looked  at  them  both  from  under  her  straight 
eyebrows,  breathing  quickly. 

"  Her  life  has  been  one  long  self-immolation.     It 

was  too  much  for  me  this  evening.     I  realized  what 

she  had  never  told    me,  the  past   years   and    this 

past  month  of  drudgery  and  loneliness  and  insult ! 

247 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

She  nursed  your  mother ;  she  did  the  work  of  the 
servants  you  and  your  father  took  with  you  ;  she 
earned  the  money  for  the  bare  necessaries  of  life — 
you  and  your  father  having  the  luxuries  ;  she  bore 
insult,  as  I  said.  And  once,  and  once  only,  I  saw 
her  crushed,  and  like  the  brute  I  am,  like  the  das- 
tard I  am,  I  too  joined  the  ranks  of  the  egotists,  I 
too  heaped  misery  upon  her  ;  I  told  her  I  loved  her, 
and  I  took  her  into  my  arms  as  you  saw  us." 

"  Yes  ;  as  I  see  you."  Katherine's  very  lips  were 
white. 

Hilda  gave  a  sudden  start  and  almost  roughly 
she  thrust  Odd  away ;  the  terror  on  her  face  had 
hardened  to  that  look  of  resolution  ;  Odd  remem- 
bered it.  From  the  very  extremity  of  anguish  she 
passed  to  the  extremity  of  self-control. 

"  Katherine,"  she  said,  "  he  is  trying  to  shield  me. 
It  did  not  happen  like  that.  I  told  him  that  I  loved 
him.  I  told  him  that  I  had  always  loved  him." 

"  Oh  !  did  you  ?  "  said  Katherine,  with  a  withered 
little  laugh. 

"  My  child ! "  cried  poor  Odd,  a  horrid  sense  of 
helplessness  before  this  assumption  of  incredible 
humiliation  half  paralyzing  him — "  my  child,  what 
are  you  saying?  What  madness!" 

"  I  am  not  mad,  I  am  saying  the  truth.  I  told 
you  that  I  loved  you." 

"  In  reply  to  an  avowal  of  love  on  my  part,  a  love 
you  misunderstood.  You  know,  as  I  knew  when 
you  spoke,  that  the  affection  you  owned  so  finely, 
so  nobly,  so  purely,  was  the  child's  love,  the  love  of 
the  loyal  sister  for  her  friend,  the  love  of  an  angel." 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Hilda. 
248 


HILDA 

"Oh!"  cried  Odd,  looking  at  her  with  savage 
tenderness,  "  this  is  unbearable." 

It  was  as  if  they  had  forgotten,  each  in  the  mutual 
justification  of  the  other,  Katherine  standing  there 
a  silent  spectator. 

But  Odd  was  conscious  of  that  outraging  contem- 
plation. 

"  Hilda,"  he  said  appealingly  and  yet  sternly,  "  at 
the  very  height  of  your  trust  in  me  I  betrayed  it. 
Your  nobility  had  reached  its  climax.  I  had  kissed 
you  and  you  retreated,  but  without  a  shadow  of 
doubt  ;  and  I,  from  the  base  wish  to  try  your  trust 
to  the  utmost,  said  that  I  loved  you.  You  never 
faltered  from  your  innocent  outlook  in  replying ;  it 
was  I  who  saw  the  truth,  not  you." 

"  Katherine,"  Hilda  repeated,  "  he  is  trying  to 
shield  me.  We  are  both  base,  yes ;  but  I  forced 
him  to  baseness.  I  longed  for  him  to  love  me,  and 
when  he  took  me  in  his  arms,  I  was  glad." 

"  Good  God  !  "  cried  Peter. 

Katherine  averted  her  eyes  from  her  sister's  face. 

"  I  must  own,  Peter,"  she  said,  "  that  your  posi- 
tion was  difficult.  Hilda  evidently  painted  the 
pathos  of  her  life  to  you  in  most  touching  colors 
— she  herself  very  white  on  the  background  of 
our  black  depravity.  That  in  itself  is  enough  to 
shake  a  rather  emotional  heart  like  yours.  And 
then,  Hilda  being  very  beautiful,  and  you  not  a 
Galahad  I  fear,  she  confesses  her  love  for  you, 
retreating  delicately  before  your  kisses.  Of  course 
those  kisses  she  received  as  platonic  pledges — from 
the  man  engaged  to  her  sister.  Trying  for  the  man, 
very  ;  I  quite  recognize  it.  Under  such  tempting 
249 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

circumstances  the  struggle  for  loyalty  and  honor 
must  have  been  difficult.  As  you  could  hardly  solve 
the  difficulty,  she  solved  it  for  you,  very  effectually, 
very  courageously.  When  you  took  her  in  your 
arms — how  often  we  repeat  that  phrase — the  '  truth  ' 
at  last  flashed  upon  you.  Even  devoted  friendship 
could  hardly  account  for  such  yielding  unconven- 
tionality,  and  Hilda's  hidden  love  won  the  day." 

During  these  remarks,  Odd  felt  himself  shaking 
with  rage.  If  Katherine  had  been  a  man  he  would 
have  knocked  her  down  ;  as  it  was,  his  voice  was 
the  equivalent  of  a  blow  as  he  said,  clenching  his 
hand  on  the  back  of  a  chair — 

"  You  despicable  creature  !  " 

He  and  Katherine  glared  at  one  another. 

"  Only  the  higher  nature  can  put  itself  so  hid- 
eously in  the  power  of  the  lower,"  Odd  went  on  ; 
"  and  you  dare  ! " 

"  No,  no ;  all  she  says  may  be  true ! "  moaned 
Hilda.  She  dropped  upon  the  sofa  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands,  adding  brokenly :  "  And  how 
can  you  be  so  cruel  ?  so  cruel  to  her  ?  She  loves 
you  too ! " 

Katherine  turned  savagely  upon  her  sister,  and 
then,  impulse  nipped  by  quick  reflection — 

"  You  need  not  allow  for  a  woman's  jealousy, 
Mr.  Odd.  Don't,  no  indeed  you  must  not,  flatter 
yourself  with  my  broken  heart.  I  don't  like  hu- 
miliation for  myself  or  for  others.  I  don't  like  to 
scorn  my  sister  whom  I  trusted,  whom  I  loved.  I 
could  have  killed  the  person  who  had  told  me  this 
of  her !  My  humiliation,  my  scorn,  make  me  too 
bitter  for  charity.  But  I  give  you  back  your  word 
250 


HILDA 

without  one  regret  for  myself.  You  have  killed  my 
love  very  effectually." 

"  Was  there  ever  much  to  kill,  Katherine  ?  " 

"  That  is  ignoble,  quite  as  ignoble  as  I  could  pre- 
dict of  you.  Hilda's  lesson  must  necessarily  make 
the  past  look  pale." 

"  I  can  only  hope  that  you  do  yourself  an  in- 
justice by  such  base  speeches,  Katherine." 

"  Your  example  has  been  contagious." 

"  Let  me  think  so  by  proving  yourself  more 
worthy  than  you  seem.  Ask  your  sister's  forgive- 
ness— as  I  ask  yours — humbly.  She  has  not  feared 
humiliation." 

"  I  do  not  find  myself  in  a  position  to  fear  or 
accept  it.  I  found  Hilda  in  the  dust,  and  I  cannot 
forgive  her  for  having  fallen  there.  Her  poor  con- 
fession was  no  atonement.  And  now,  Mr.  Odd,  I 
make  an  exit  more  apropos  than  my  entrance,  and 
leave  you  with  her."  Katherine  took  up  her  wrap 
and  walked  out  without  looking  again  at  Hilda. 

"  And  /have  done  this,"  said  Odd.  Hilda  lay 
motionless,  her  face  upon  her  arms,  and  he  ap- 
proached her.  There  was  a  strange  effect  of  no 
Hilda  at  all  under  the  heavy  folds  of  the  gown  ;  in 
the  dark  it  glimmered  with  a  vacant  whiteness ;  it 
was  as  though  the  cruel  words  had  beaten  away  her 
body  and  her  soul. 

"  Hilda !  "  said  Odd,  broken-heartedly,  hesitating 
as  he  paused  beside  her,  not  daring  to  touch  the 
still  figure.  "  Hilda  !"  he  repeated;  "if  only  you 
will  forgive  me ;  if  only  you  will  own  that  it  is  I, 
-I  only  who  need  forgiveness,  and  unsay  those  mad 
words  that  gave  her  the  power  !  Oh  !  that  she 
251 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

should  have  had  the  power !  She  has  made  re- 
morse impossible  !  "  Odd  added,  addressing  himself 
rather  than  Hilda,  whose  silence  offered  no  hint  of 
sympathy. 

"  Why  did  you  put  yourself  under  her  feet  and 
make  me  powerless  ?"  he  asked;  "you  know  that 
your  gentle  reticence  had  for  months  kept  my  love 
in  check ;  you  knew  that  had  I  kept  at  your  level, 
you  would  have  never  realized  that  you  loved  me." 
He  bent  above  her  and  kissed  her  hand.  "  Precious 
one  !  Dearest,  dearest  child." 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  said  Hilda.  She  drew  her  hand 
away,  not  lifting  her  head.  "  Her  heart  is  broken. 
I  am  all  that  she  said." 

"  Her  heart  is  not  broken  !  "  cried  Odd,  in  rather 
desperate  accents.  "  I  could  swear  to  it  !  She  is  a 
cruel,  heartless  girl !  " 

"  What  would  you  have  asked  of  her?  You  were 
cruel  to  her." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it."  And  as  Hilda  made  no  reply 
to  this  statement,  he  stooped  to  her  again,  imploring : 
"  Will  you  not  look  at  me  ?  Look  up,  dearest ;  tell 
me  again  that  you  love  me." 

"  I  am  already  in  the  dust,"  said  Hilda,  after  a 
pause. 

"  You  shall  not  sink  to  a  morbid  acceptance  of 
that  venom ! "  cried  Odd ;  he  took  her  by  the 
shoulders  with  almost  a  suggestion  of  shaking  her. 
"  Sit  up.  Listen  to  me,"  he  said,  raising  her  and 
looking  down  at  her  stricken  face,  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders.  "  I  have  loved  you  passionately  for 
months.  She  was  right  in  one  thing ;  I  had  better 
have  told  her,  not  have  fumbled  with  that  fatally 
252 


HILDA 

misplaced  idea  of  honor.  You  may  have  loved  me, 
but  I  was  as  unconscious  of  it  as  you  were.  To-day 
you  were  worn  out,  terrified,  miserable.  Just  see  it 
with  one  grain  of  common  charity,  of  common 
sense,  psychology,  physiology  if  you  will,  for  you 
are  ill,  wretchedly  weak  and  off  balance,  my  darling 
child ! "  Odd  added,  sitting  down  beside  her ;  and 
he  would  have  drawn  her  to  him,  but  Hilda 
repeated — 

"  Don't." 

"  You  felt  my  pity,  my  sympathy,"  Odd  went  on, 
holding  her  hands.  "  You  felt  my  love,  poor  little 
one,  unconsciously.  You  turned  to  me  like  the 
child  you  were  and  are.  You  were  starving  for 
kindness,  consolation — for  love — you  came  to  your 
friend,  the  friend  you  trusted,  and  you  found  more 
than  a  friend.  The  love  you  owned  so  beautifully 
was  a  truth  too  high  for  the  hearer." 

"  Oh  !  I  did  not  dream  that  you  loved  me.  I  did 
not  dream  that  I  lovedyou  \  "  Hilda  wailed  suddenly. 

"  Thank  God  that  you  own  to  that  !  "  Odd 
ejaculated. 

"  That  does  not  clear  me,"  she  retorted.  "  No, 
no  ;  I  was  a  fool.  You,  the  man  engaged  to  my 
sister  !  I  should  have  felt  the  danger,  the  dis- 
loyalty of  your  interest.  I  was  a  fool  not  to  feel 
it !  And  that  appeal  I  made  to  you — it  was  no 
more  or  less  that  sickening  self-pity,  that  das- 
tardly whine  over  my  own  pathos,  that  morbid 
sentimentality  !  I  see  it  all,  all  !  I  was  trying  to 
make  you  care  for  me,  love  me.  I  suppose  crimes 
are  usually  committed  by  people  off  balance  physi- 
cally, but  crimes  are  crimes,  and  I  am  wicked.  I 
253 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

hate  myself !  "  she  sobbed,  bending  again  her  face 
upon  her  hands. 

"  Hilda,"  said  Odd,  trying  to  speak  calmly  and 
reasonably,  "  you  could  not  have  tried  to  make  me 
fond  of  you,  since  I  had  plainly  proved  to  you  for 
months  that  I  adored  you.  You  complain  !  You 
gain  pity  !  When  your  cold  little  air  of  imperson- 
ality blinded  even  my  eyes  ;  when  only  my  love  for 
you  gave  me  the  instinctive  uneasiness  that  led  me, 
step  by  step — you  retreating  before  me — to  the  final 
realizations  ;  and  final  they  are  not,  I  could  swear 
to  it  !  Ah  !  some  day,  Hilda,  some  day  I  shall  get 
at  the  real  truth.  I  shall  worm  it  from  you.  You 
shall  be  forced  to  tell  me  all  that  you  have  suffered." 
Hilda  interrupted  him  with  an  "  Oh  !  "  from  be- 
tween clenched  teeth. 

"  Katherine  was  right,"  she  said,  "  I  have  painted 
myself  in  pathetic  colors.  What  a  prig!  What  an 
egotist !  "  Her  voice  trembled  on  its  low  note  of 
passionate  self-scorn. 

"  An  egotist ! "  Odd  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 
"  That  caps  the  climax.  Come,  Hilda,"  he  added, 
"  don't  be  too  utterly  ridiculous.  Facts  are,  happily, 
still  facts ;  your  toiling  youth  and  utter  sacrifice 
among  them.  As  I  say,  I  have  n't  yet  sounded  the 
depths  of  your  self-renunciation,  and,  as  I  say,  some 
day  you  will  tell  me,  my  Hilda  ;  my  brave,  splendid, 
unconscious  little  child."  Odd  put  his  arms  around 
her  as  he  spoke,  but  Hilda's  swift  uprising  from  them 
had  a  lightning-like  decision. 

"  You  dare  speak  so  to  me  !     After  this  !     After 
our  baseness  !     You  dare  to  speak  of  some  day  ? 
There  will  never  be  any  day  for  us — together." 
254 


HILDA 

"  I  say  there  will  be,  Hilda." 

"  You  think  that  I  could  ever  forget  my  sister's 
misery  ;  my  shame  and  yours  ?  " 

"  You  are  raving,  my  poor  child.  I  think  that 
common  sense  will  win  the  day." 

"  That  is  a  placid  term  for  such  degradation." 

"  I  see  no  degradation  in  a  love  that  can  rise  above 
a  hideous  mistake." 

"  You  will  find  that  hideous  mistakes  are  things 
that  cling.  You  can't  mend  a  broken  heart  by 
marching  over  it." 

"  One  may  avoid  breaking  another." 

"  You  make  me  scorn  you.  I  am  ashamed  of  lov- 
ing you.  Yes ;  there  is  the  bitterest  shame  of  all. 
I  love  you  and  I  despise  you.  You  are  nothing 
that  I  thought  you.  You  are  weak,  and  cruel,  and 
mean." 

"  You,  Hilda,  are  only  cruel — unutterably  cruel," 
said  Odd  brokenly. 

"  I  never  wish  to  see  you  again."  Hilda  stared 
with  dilated  eyes  into  his  eyes  of  pitiful  appeal. 
"  You  have  robbed  my  life  of  the  little  it  had  ;  you 
have  robbed  me  of  self-respect." 

"  Shall  I  leave  you,  Hilda  ?  " 

"  You  have  broken  her  heart,  and  you  have  broken 
mine.  Yes,  leave  me." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Odd.  He  walked  towards  the 
door  like  a  man  stabbed  to  the  heart,  and  half- 
unconscious. 

"  Peter  !  "  cried  Hilda,  in  a  hard  voice.  He  turned 
towards  her.  She  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  looking  at  him  with  the  same  fixed  and  dilated 
eyes. 

255 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  What  is  it,  my  child  ?  "  Odd  asked  gently. 

"  Kiss  me  good-bye  !  " 

He  came  to  her,  and  she  held  out  her  arms. 
They  clasped  one  another. 

"  Must  I  leave  you  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  stammering 
voice. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes.     Kiss  me." 

He  bent  his  head  and  their  lips  met.  Hilda  un- 
clasped her  arms  and  moved  away  from  him,  and  he 
made  no  attempt  to  keep  her.  Looking  at  her  with 
a  characteristic  mingling  of  suffering  and  rather 
grimly  emphatic  humor,  he  said — 

'«  I  will  wait" 

And  turning  away,  he  walked  out  of  the  room. 
256 


CHAPTER  XII 

FOR  two  whole  weeks — strange  cataclysm  in  the 
Archinard  household — Hilda  stayed  in  bed 
really  ill.  Taylor  waited  on  her  with  an  indignant 
devotion  that  implied,  by  contrast,  worlds  of  re- 
pressed antagonism  ;  for  Taylor  had  highly  disap- 
proved of  her  trip  with  Katherine,  and  when  she 
announced  to  Hilda  on  the  day  after  the  great  catas- 
trophe that  Katherine  had  returned  to  England,  she 
added  with  emphasis — 

"  But  I  don't  go  this  time,  Miss  Hilda.  It 's  your 
turn  to  have  a  maid  now." 

The  news  took  a  weight  of  dread  from  Hilda's 
heart.  She  shrank  from  again  seeing  her  own  guilt 
looking  at  her  from  ^Catherine's  tragic  eyes.  She 
did  not  need  Katherine  to  impress  it ;  during  long 
days  and  dim,  half  delirious  nights  it  haunted  her, 
the  awful  sense  of  irremediable  wrong,  of  everlasting 
responsibility  for  her  sister's  misery.  With  all  the 
capability  for  self-torture,  only  possessed  by  the 
most  finely  tempered  natures,  she  scourged  her 
memory  again  and  again  through  that  blighting  hour 
when  she  had  appealed  for  and  confessed  a  love  that 
had  dishonored  her.  She  dwelt  with  sickening  on 
the  moment  when  she  had  said  :  "  I  love  you,  too  !  " 
Her  conscience,  fanatically  unbalanced,  distorted  it 
with  cruellest  self-injustice.  Indeed,  such  moments 
17  257 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

in  life  are  difficult  of  analysis ;  the  unconsciously 
spoken  words  followed  by  a  consciousness  so  swift 
that  in  perspective  they  merge.  In  periods  of  clearer 
moral  visions  she  could  place  her  barrier,  but  only 
for  mere  flashes  of  relief,  turned  from  with  agony,  as 
the  dreadful  fact  of  Katherine's  ruined  love  surged 
over  all  and  made  of  day  and  night  one  blackness. 

Hilda's  love  for  Odd  now  told  her  that  for  months 
past  it  had  been  growing  from  the  child's  devotion, 
and,  with  the  new  torture  of  a  hopeless  longing  upon 
her — for  which  she  despised  herself — she  saw  in  the 
whole  scene  with  him  the  base  self-betrayal  of  a  love- 
sick heart. 

Only  a  few  days  after  Katherine's  departure,  the 
Captain  returned. 

Hilda  felt,  as  he  would  come  in  and  look  at  her 
lying  there  with  that  weird  sense  of  distance  upon 
her,  that  her  father  was  changed.  He  walked  care- 
fully in  and  out  on  the  tips  of  the  Archinard  toes, 
and,  outside  the  door,  she  could  hear  him  talking 
in  tones  of  fretful  anxiety  on  her  behalf. 

He  hardly  mentioned  Katherine's  broken  engage- 
ment, and,  for  once  in  her  life,  Hilda  was  an  object 
of  consideration  for  her  family.  Even  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard rose  from  her  sofa  on  more  than  one  occasion 
to  sit  plaintively  beside  her  daughter's  bed  ;  and  it 
was  from  her  that  Hilda  learned  that  they  were 
going  back  to  Allersley. 

Her  father,  then,  must  have  enough  money  to 
pay  mortgages  and  debts,  and  Hilda  lay  with  closed 
eyes  while  her  forebodings  leaped  to  possibilities 
and  to  probabilities.  The  Captain's  good  fortune 
showed  to  her  in  a  dismal  light  of  material  depend- 
258 


HILDA 

ence,  and  she  could  guess  miserably  at  its  source. 
She  could  guess  who  encompassed  her  feeble  life 
with  care,  and  who  it  was  that  shielded  her  from 
even  a  feather's  weight  of  gratitude — for  the  Captain 
made  no  mention  of  his  good  luck. 

"  Yes,  we  are  going  back  to  the  Priory,"  Mrs. 
Archinard  said,  her  melancholy  eyes  resting  almost 
reproachfully  upon  her  daughter's  wasted  face.  "  It 
would  be  pleasant  were  it  not  that  fate  takes  care  to 
compensate  for  any  sweet  by  an  engulfing  bitter. 
Katnerine  to  jilt  Mr.  Odd,  and  you  so  dangerously 
ill,  Hilda.  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,  I  predicted  it 
rather.  You  have  killed  yourself  tout  simplement ; 
I  consider  it  a  simple  case  of  suicide.  Ah,  yes,  in- 
deed !  The  doctor  thinks  it  very,  very  serious.  No 
vitality,  complete  exhaustion.  I  said  to  him,  '  Doc- 
teur,  elle  sest  tufa'  I  said  it  frankly." 

Mrs.  Archinard  found  another  invalid  rather  con- 
fusing. She  had  for  so  long  contemplated  one  only, 
that,  insensibly,  she  adopted  the  same  tones  of 
pathos  and  pity  on  Hilda's  behalf,  hardly  realizing 
their  objective  nature. 

By  the  beginning  of  May  they  were  once  more  in 
Allersley.  It  was  like  returning  to  a  prior  state  of 
existence,  and  Hilda,  lying  in  a  wicker  chair  on  the 
lawn,  looked  at  the  strange  familiarity  of  the  trees, 
the  meadows,  the  river  between  its  sloping  banks  of 
smooth  green  turf,  and  felt  like  a  ghost  among  the 
unchanged  scenes  of  her  childhood. 

Mrs.  Archinard  found  out,  bit  by  bit,  that  it  was 

tiresome  to  keep  her  sofa  now  that  there  was  an 

opposition  faction  on  the  lawn ;  she  realized,  too,  to 

a  certain  extent,  what  it  was  that  Hilda  had  been 

259 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

to  that  sofa  existence ;  without  the  background  of 
Hilda's  quiet  servitude,  it  became  flat  and  flavor- 
less, and  Mrs.  Archinard  arose  and  actually  walked, 
and  for  longer  periods  every  day,  drifting  about  the 
house  and  garden  in  pensive  contemplation  of  ton- 
ants'  havoc.  She  sighed  over  the  Priory  and  said 
it  had  changed  very  much,  but,  characteristically, 
she  did  not  think  of  asking  how  the  Priory  had  come 
to  them  again.  The  Captain  vouchsafed  no  hint. 
He  went  rather  sulkily  through  his  day,  fished  a 
little — the  Captain  had  no  taste  for  a  pleasure  as  in- 
expensive as  fishing — and  read  the  newspapers  with 
ejaculations  of  disgust  at  political  follies. 

When  Hilda  sat  in  the  sunshine  near  the  river, 
her  father  often  walked  aimlessly  in  her  neighbor- 
hood, eyeing  her  with  almost  embarrassed  glances, 
always  averted  hastily  if  her  eyes  met  his.  Hilda 
had  submitted  passively  to  all  the  material  changes 
of  her  life  ;  she  saw  them  only  vaguely,  concentrated 
on  that  restless  inner  torture.  But  one  day,  as  her 
father  lingered  indeterminately  around  her,  switch- 
ing his  fishing-rod,  looking  hastily  into  his  fishing- 
basket,  and  showing  evident  signs  of  perplexity  and 
indecision  very  clumsily  concealed,  a  sudden  thought 
of  her  own  egotistic  self-absorption  struck  her,  and 
a  sudden  sense  of  method  underlying  the  Captain's 
manoeuvres. 

"  Papa,  come  and  sit  down  by  me  a  little  while. 
I  am  sure  the  fish  will  be  glad  of  a  respite.  Is  n't 
it  a  little  sunny  to-day  for  first-class  fishing  ?  "  Hilda 
pointed  to  the  chair  near  hers,  and  the  Captain  came 
up  to  her  with  shy  alacrity. 

"  Even  first-class  fishing  is  a  bore,  /  think,"  he 
260 


HILDA 

observed1,  not  taking  the  chair,  but  laying  his  rod 
upon  it,  and  looking  at  his  daughter  and  then  at  the 
river. 

"  Feeling  better  to-day,  are  n't  you  ?  You  might 
take  a  stroll  with  me,  perhaps  ;  but  no,  you  're  not 
strong  enough  for  that,  are  you  ?  Fine  day,  is  n't 
it?" 

Now  that  the  moment  looked  forward  to,  yet 
dreaded,  might  be  coming,  the  Captain  vaguely 
tried  to  avert  it  after  the  procrastinating  manner  of 
weak  people.  Hilda  did  not  seem  to  have  anything 
particular  to  say,  and  the  absent-minded  smile  on 
her  face  reassured  him  as  to  immediate  issues. 

"  How  are  you  feeling?"  she  asked ;  "  I  have  been 
looking  at  the  trees  and  grass  for  so  long  that  I  had 
almost  forgotten  that  there  are  human  beings  in  the 
world." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  very  well ;  very  well  indeed."  The 
Captain  was  again  feeling  uncomfortable.  An  inner 
coercion  seemed  to  be  forcing  him  to  speak  just 
because  speaking  was  not  really  imperative  at  the 
moment.  A  little  glow  of  self-approbation  suddenly 
prompted  him  to  add :  "  You  know,  I  know  about 
it  now.  That  is  to  say,  I  was  n't  exactly  to  speak 
of  it,  if  it  might  pain  you ;  but  I  don't  see  why  it 
should  do  that.  Upon  my  word,"  said  the  Captain, 
feeling  warmly  self-righteous  now  that  the  ice  was 
broken,  "it's  more  likely  to  pain  me,  isn't  it? 
Rather  to  my  discredit,  you  know ;  though,  intrin- 
sically, I  was  as  innocent  as  a  babe  unborn.  Of 
course  you  helped  me  over  a  tight  place  now  and 
then,  but  I  thought  the  money  came  to  you  with  a 
mere  turn  of  the  hand,  so  to  speak  ;  and,  as  for  your 
261 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 


teaching — wearing  yourself  out — well,  I  don't  know 
which  I  was  angrier  with  first,  you  or  myself, 
never  dreamed  of  it,  it  never  entered  into  my  head. 
And  then,  my  daughter  and  low  French  cads !  Well, 
he  saw  to  that,  and  so  did  I.  I  saw  the  fellow  too  ; 
thought  it  best,  you  know;  for,  naturally,  Odd 
could  n't  have  my  weight  and  authority.  I  was 
simply  stupefied,  you  know.  It  quite  knocked  me 
over  when  he  told  me.  Odd  told  me — " 

The  Captain  took  up  his  rod,  examined  the  reel, 
and  then  switched  its  limber  length  tentatively 
through  the  air.  It  was  embarrassing,  after  all,  this 
recognition  of  his  daughter's  life. 

"  Now  your  mother  doesn't  know,"  he  pursued  ; 
"  Odd  seemed  rather  anxious  that  she  should  ;  rather 
unfeeling  of  him  too,  I  thought  it.  There  was  no 
necessity  for  that,  was  there?  It  would  have  quite 
killed  her,  wouldn  't  it  ?  Quite." 

"  You  need  neither  of  you  have  known."  All 
she  was  wondering  about,  trying  to  grasp,  made 
Hilda  pale.  "  It  came  about  most  naturally  ;  and,  if 
mamma's  illness  and  that  other  unpleasant  episode 
had  not  broken  me  down,  my  modest  business 
might  have  come  to  an  end — no  one  the  wiser  for  it. 
Mr.  Odd  exaggerated  the  whole  thing  no  doubt." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know."  The  Captain  now  sat  down 
on  the  chair  with  a  sigh  of  some  relief.  "  It  's  off 
my  mind  at  all  events.  I  wanted  to  express  my 
— pain,  you  know,  and  my  gratitude — and  to  say 
what  a  jolly  trump  I  thought  you  ;  that  kind  of 
thing." 

"  Dear  papa,  I  don't  deserve  it." 

"  Ah,  well,  Odd  isn't  the  man  to  make  misstate- 
262 


: 


HILDA 

ftients,  you  know.  A  bit  of  dreamer,  unpractical, 
no  doubt.  But  he  sees  facts  as  clearly  as  any  one, 
you  know.  He  showed  it  all  clearly.  Rather  cut- 
ting, to  tell  you  the  truth.  Of  course  he  's  very  fond 
of  you  ;  that's  natural.  This  sad  affair  of  Kath- 
erine's  ;  if  it  had  n't  been  for  that,  you  and  he  would 
be  brother  and  sister  by  this  time." 

It  was  Hilda's  turn  now  to  draw  in  a  little  breath 
of  relief.  At  all  events  her  father  was  no  ally.  No 
other  secret  had  been  told,  and  she  saw,  now  that 
the  dread  had  gone,  that  any  cause  for  it  would 
have  involved  an  indelicacy  towards  Katherine  of 
which  she  knew  Odd  to  be  incapable. 

"  Where  is  he — Mr.  Odd  ?  "  she  asked,  steeling  her- 
self to  the  question. 

The  look  of  gloom  which  touched  the  Captain's 
face  anew,  confirmed  Hilda  in  her  certainty  of  infi- 
nite pecuniary  obligation. 

"  Not  at  home.  Travelling  again,  I  believe.  A 
man  can't  sit  down  quietly  under  a  blow  like  that." 

A  flush  came  over  Hilda's  face.  Part  of  her  pun- 
ishment was  evident.  She  must  hear  Katherine 
spoken  of  as  the  fickle,  shallow-hearted,  while  she, 
guilt-stained,  answerable  for  all,  went  undiscovered 
and  crowned  with  praises.  Yet  Katherine  herself 
— any  woman — would  choose  the  part  Odd  had 
given  her — the  part  of  jilt  rather  than  jilted  ;  and 
she,  Hilda,  was  helpless. 

"  Papa,"  she  asked,  driving  in  the  dagger  up  to 
the  hilt — she  could  at  least  punish  herself,  if  no  one 
else  could  punish  her — "  where  is  Katherine  ?  Is 
she  not  coming  to  stay  with  us  ? "  The  Captain 
swung  one  leg  over  the  other  with  impatience. 
263 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  I  Ve  hardly  heard  from  her ;  she  is  with  the 
Leonards  in  London.  Odd  spoke  very  highly  of 
her ;  seemed  to  think  she  had  acted  honorably ; 
but,  naturally,  Katherine  must  feel  that  she  has 
behaved  badly." 

"  I  am  sure  she  has  not  done  that,  papa.  She 
found  that  she  would  not  be  happy  with  him." 

"  Pshaw !  That 's  all  feminine  folly,  you  know. 
She  probably  saw  some  one  she  liked  better,  some 
bigger  match.  Katherine  is  n't  the  girl  to  throw 
over  a  man  like  Odd  for  a  whim." 

Hilda's  flush  was  now  as  much  for  her  father  as 
for  herself.  She  felt  her  cheeks  burning  as  she  said, 
her  voice  trembling — 

"  Papa,  papa  !  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing  of 
Katherine  !  How  can  you  !  I  know  it  is  not  true. 
I  know  it !  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,  if  you  are  in  her  secrets.  I  know 
Katherine  pretty  well  though,  and  it 's  not  unimag- 
inable. I  don't  imply  anything  vulgar."  The  Cap- 
tain rose  as  he  spoke  and  swung  his  basket  into 
place ;  "  that 's  not  conceivable  in  my  daughter. 
But  Katherine  's  ambitious,  very  ambitious.  As  for 
you,  Hilda — and  all  that,  you  know — I  am  awfully 
sorry,  you  understand."  The  Captain  walked  away 
briskly,  satisfied  at  having  eased  his  conscience. 
Odd  had  made  it  feel  uncomfortably  swollen  and 
unwieldy,  and  the  Captain's  conscience  was,  by 
nature,  slim  and  flexible. 

Hilda  lay  in  her  chair,  and  looked  at  the  river 
running  brightly  beyond  the  branches  of  the  lime- 
tree  under  which  she  sat.  The  flush  of  misery  that 
her  father's  cool  suppositions  on  Katherine's  con- 
264 


HILDA 

duct  had  seemed  to  strike  into  her  face,  only  died 
slowly.  She  had  to  turn  from  that  shame  reso- 
lutely, contemplation  would  only  deepen  its  help- 
lessness. She  looked  at  the  river,  and  thought  of 
the  time  when  she  had  stood  beside  it  with  Odd 
and  recited  Chaucer  to  him.  She  thought  of  the 
humorous  droop  of  his  eyelids,  the  kind,  compre- 
hensive clasp  of  his  hand  on  hers  ;  the  look  of  the 
hand  too,  long,  brown,  delicate,  the  finger-tips  too 
dainty  for  a  man,  and  the  dark  green  seal  on  his 
finger.  Hilda  turned  her  head  away  from  the  river 
and  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Allone,  withouten  any  companye,"  that  was  the 
fated  motto  of  her  life. 

265 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BY  the  end  of  June,  returning  physical  strength 
gave  Hilda  the  wish  to  seek  self-forgetful  effort 
of  some  kind.  She  tried  to  busy  herself  with  some- 
thing— with  anything — and  experienced  the  odd 
sensation  of  a  person  upon  whom  duty  has  always 
pressed  and  crowded,  in  a  futile  search  for  duty. 
The  stern,  sweet  helper  eluded  her,  the  unreality  of 
manufactured,  unnecessary  activity  appalled  her. 
She  regretted  the  strenuous  days  of  labor  that 
meant  something.  Taking  herself  to  task  for  a  weak 
submission  to  circumstance,  she  fitted  up  a  large 
room  at  the  top  of  the  house  with  artistic  apparatus  ; 
nice  models  were  easily  lured  from  the  village  ;  she 
told  herself  that  art  at  least  remained,  and  tried  to 
absorb  herself  in  her  painting ;  but  the  savor  of  keen 
interest  was  gone  ;  the  pink  cheeks  and  staring  eyes 
of  her  village  girl  were  annoying.  Hilda  felt  more 
like  crying  than  trying  to  select  from  and  modify 
her  buxom  charms. 

Mrs.  Archinard  had  suddenly  assumed  an  active 
rdle  in  life  most  confusing  to  her  daughter.  Even 
mamma  did  not  need  her.  Mrs.  Archinard  drove 
out  in  the  pony-cart  to  see  people ;  she  held  quite 
a  little  cdterie  of  callers  every  afternoon.  Mrs. 
Archinard's  little  Causeries  de  Mardi,  her  society 
for  little  weekly  dinners — only  six  chosen  members 
266 


HILDA 

— tes  Elites — stirred  Allersley  to  the  quick  with 
aesthetic  thrills  and  heart-burnings.  Mrs.  Archinard 
laughed  prettily  and  lightly  at  her  own  feats,  but 
Allersley  was  avvestricken,  and  got  down  its  Sainte- 
Beuve  trembling,  resolved  on  firm  foundations. 

Hilda  was  not  one  of  les  Elites.  "  Just  for  us  old 
people,  trying  to  amuse  ourselves,"  Mrs.  Archinard 
said,  and  at  the  Causeries  Hilda  was  an  anomalous 
and  silent  onlooker  ;  indeed  the  Causeries  were  quite 
Sainte-Beuvian  in  their  monologic  form,  Mrs.  Archi- 
nard causant  and  Allersley  attentive,  but  discreetly 
reticent,  no  one  caring  to  risk  a  revelation  of  igno- 
rance. The  Captain  carefully  avoided  both  the  Elites 
and  the  mardis,  and  devoted  himself  to  more  com- 
monplace individualities  whose  dinners  were  good, 
and  then  one  wasn't  required  to  strain  one's  temper 
by  listening  to  fine  talk. 

Mary  Apswith  spent  a  week  at  the  Manor,  and 
one  fresh  sunny  morning  she  came  to  see  Hilda. 
She  found  her  in  the  garden  standing  between  the 
rows  of  sweet-peas,  and  filling  with  their  fragrant 
loveliness  the  basket  on  her  arm.  Mary's  mind 
had  been  given  over  to  a  commotion  of  conjecture 
since  Peter's  flying  visit  to  her  in  London.  He 
had  told  her  much  and  yet  not  enough  ;  though 
what  he  had  told  insured  sympathy  for  Hilda. 
Mary  was  generous,  and  the  sight  of  Hilda's  white 
sunlit  face  completed  Peter's  work.  She  found  that 
she  had  kissed  Hilda— she,  so  undemonstrative— 
and  standing  with  her  arms  around  the  girl's  slight 
shoulders,  she  said,  looking  at  her  with  a  grave 
smile,  in  which  the  slight  touch  of  playfulness 
reminded  poor  Hilda  of  Peter — 
267 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"You  will  see  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

Hilda  still  held  in  her  hands  the  last  long  sprays 
she  had  cut — palest  pink  and  palest  purple,  "  on 
tiptoe  for  a  flight." 

"  How  kind  of  you  to  come,"  she  said. 

"  Kind  of  you  to  say  so,  since  I  come  from 
the  enemy's  camp.  That  reckless  brother  of 
mine ! " 

"Did  he  send  you?"  Hilda  asked,  fright  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Send  me  ?  Oh  no,  he  did  n't  send  me ;  but 
after  what  he  has  told  me,  I  came  naturally  of  my 
own  free  will."  Hilda  smiled  faintly  in  reply  to 
Mary's  smile. 

"  What  has  he  told  you  ?" 

"  Why,  simply  that  he  had  been  in  love  with  you 
almost  from  the  day  he  proposed  to  Katherine ; 
indeed  he  implied  an  even  remoter  origin.  Really 
Peter  ought  to  be  whipped !  He  almost  deserves 
the  sacking  you  are  giving  him  ! " 

Hilda  winced  at  the  humorous  tone. 

"  That  he  had  made  love  to  you  most  cruelly ; 
that  Katherine  had  come  in  upon  the  love  scene ; 
that  she,  too,  was  cruel — natural,  though,  wasn't 
it  ?  Peter  is  rather  hard  on  Katherine.  And,  to 
sum  up,  that  you  had  been  badly  treated  by  the 
world  in  general,  by  himself  in  particular,  and  that 
he  was  very  desperate  and  you  painfully  perfect, 
and — oh,  a  great  many  things." 

"  Did    he    tell  you   that    I    loved  him  ? "   Hilda 

asked,  looking  down  at  her  sweet-peas  with,  if  that 

were  possible,  an  added  pallor.     She  wondered  if  it 

was  demanded  of  her  that   she   should   humiliate 

268 


HILDA 

herself  before  Peter's  sister— tell  her  that  she  had 
made  love  to  him. 

"  My  dear  child,"  Mary's  voice  dropped  to  a 
graver  key,  "  Peter  trusts  me,  you  know,  and  he 
ought  to  trust  me.  He  told  me  that  when  he  made 
love  to  you,  you  and  he  together  found  out  that 
fact." 

Even  Hilda's  morbid  self-doubt  could  not  deny 
the  essential  truth  of  this  point  of  view. 

"  And  now  you  won't  marry  him,"  Mary  added, 
but  in  a  matter-of-fact  manner,  and  as  if  the  subject 
were  folded  up  and  put  away  by  that  conclusive 
statement. 

"  Let  us  walk  along  the  path,  my  dear  Hilda. 
What  a  delightful  garden  this  is.  I  must  have  a 
pansy  border  like  that  in  mine.  Tell  me,  Hilda, 
why  have  you  always  so  persistently  and  doggedly 
effaced  yourself?  Why  did  you  never  let  anybody 
know  you,  and  subside  passively  into  the  back- 
ground role  f  I  never  knew  you,  I  am  sure,  and  if 
it  had  n't  been  for  Peter  I  should  n't  have  known 
you  now.  He  made  me  see  things  very  clearly. 
The  poor  little  caryatid  cowering  in  a  dark  corner, 
and  holding  up  a  whole  edifice  on  its  shoulders." 

"  How  could  he  !  Why  will  he  always  see  things 
so  ?  It  makes  me  miserable." 

"Well,  well ;  perhaps  Peter's  point  of  view  would 
seem  to  you  exaggerated.  But,  as  I  say,  why  did 
you  never  let  me  get  a  glimpse  of  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  tried  to  hide.  Circumstances  kept  me 
apart.  I  loved  my  work." 

"  Yes  ;  it  must  have  been  charming  work,  in  all 
its  branches."  Mary  gave  her  a  gravely  gay  glance. 
269 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  When  you  did  emerge  from  your  shadows,  why 
did  you  never  talk — make  an  effect,  like  Kathe- 
rine?" 

"  Katherine  makes  effects  without  trying.  She  is 
effective,  and  people  like  her  for  herself.  I  was 
fitted  for  the  dark  corner.  That  is  why  I  stayed 
there." 

"  No,  my  dear,  one  can't  explain  the  injustices  of 
fortune  by  that  comfortably,  or  uncomfortably,  fatal- 
istic philosophy.  Noble  natures  get  oddly  jumped 
on  in  this  world,"  Mary  added  reflectively.  "  The 
tragedy,  of  course,  lies  in  being  too  noble  for  one's 
milieu,  for  then,  not  only  does  one  renounce,  but 
one  is  expected  to,  as  a  matter  of  course.  Forgive 
me,  Hilda,  if  I  am  a  little  coarsely  frank.  I  am 
speaking,  for  the  moment,  with  gloves  off ;  I  know 
the  truth,  and  you  may  as  well  face  it.  It 's  a  pity 
to  be  too  noble ;  one  should  have  just  a  spice  of 
egotistic  rebellion,  else  one  is  squashed  flat  to  one's 
corner." 

"  Peter  found  me,"  said  Hilda,  with  a  sad  smile 
that  evaded  the  "  coarse  "  frankness. 

They  walked  silently  along  the  little  path  under 
the  sunlit  shade  of  the  fruit-trees.  Mary  stopped  at 
a  turning. 

"Yes;  that  is  encouraging.  Reminds  one  of 
Emerson  and  optimism.  Peter  did  find  you."  Her 
large  clear  eyes  looked  an  exhortation  into  Hilda's. 
"  Peter  found  you,  my  dear  child  ;  let  Peter  keep 
you,  then." 

"  He  always  will  keep — what  he  found,"  said 
Hilda,  trembling.  "  I  love  him.  I  shall  always  love 
him," 

270 


HILDA 

"  My  dear  Hilda  !  " 

"  But  I  cannot  marry  him.     I  cannot." 

"  You  are  a  foolish  little  Hilda." 

"  We  made  Katherine  miserable." 

"  And  therefore  all  three  must  be  miserable.  For 
Peter  to  have  kept  faith  with  Katherine — loving  you 
— might  have  called  down  a  far  worse  tragedy." 

Hilda  gazed  widely  at  her — 

"  Yes  ;  I  deserve  that  suspicion." 

"  Oh,  you  foolish,  foolish  child !  "  cried  Mary, 
laughing  ;  and  she  kissed  her.  "  Come,  come  ;  say 
that  you  will  be  good  to  my  poor  brother?" 

"  I  love  him,  but  I  cannot  ground  my  happiness 
on  a  wrong." 

"  Your  happiness  would  be  grounded  on  a  right  ; 
the  wrong  was  a  mere  incidental.  Peter  must  wait, 
I  see.  Perhaps  you  will  own  some  day  that  that 
was  ample  expiation." 

271 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ONE  October  day  Hilda  received  a  queer  little 
note  from  Katherine.     That  Katherine  had 
spent  a  month  in  Scotland  and  was  now  on  a  yacht 
with  a  party  of  friends,  Hilda  knew,  and  the  note 
was  dated  from  Amalfi. 

"  Why  don't  you  marry  Peter,  you  little  goose  ?  " 
was  all  it  said. 

Hilda  trembled  as  she  read.  Katherine's  scorn 
and  Katherine's  nobility  seemed  to  breathe  from  it. 

"  I  am  not  as  base  as  you  think,"  was  her  answer. 

Katherine  received  this  answer  in  Amalfi.  She 
had  come  in  from  a  walk  with  Allan  Hope  along  the 
road  that  runs  above  the  sea  between  Amalfi  and 
Sorrento,  and  one  of  the  yachting  party,  a  girl  who 
much  admired  Katherine,  was  waiting  for  her  before 
the  hotel  holding  the  letter,  an  excuse  for  the  excited 
whisper  with  which  she  gave  it  to  her. 

"  Dear  Miss  Archinard,  he  is  here  !  " 

"What  'he,'  Nelly?"  asked  Katherine;  she 
looked  down  at  the  writing  on  the  envelope  of  her 
letter,  and  the  becoming  flush  that  her  walk  through 
the  warm  evening  had  brought  to  her  cheeks  faded 
a  little. 

Allan  Hope  had  gone  on  into  the  hotel,  and 
Nelly's  excited  eyes  followed  him  till  he  was  safely 
out  of  sight. 

272 


HILDA 

"  Mr.  Odd,"  she  said  with  dramatic  emphasis. 
"  Of  course  he  did  n't  know." 

"  Oh,  he  is  here  !  "  Katherine's  eyes  were  still 
on  the  writing.  "  No,  of  course  he  did  n't  know." 

"You  aren't  afraid  of  his  meeting  Allan?" 
Nelly  was  Allan  Hope's  cousin.  "  Is  there  no 
danger,  Miss  Archinard  ?  He  must  be  feeling  so — 
dreadfully  ! " 

"  What  a  romantic  little  pate  it  is  !  I  really  be- 
lieve you  were  looking  forward  to  a  duel.  No,  no, 
Nelly,  there  is  nothing  of  an  exciting  nature  to 
hope  for !  " 

"  But  won't  it  be  terrible  for  you  to  meet  him  ? 
The  first  time,  you  know  !  And  engaged  to  Allan  !  " 
said  Nelly. 

"  We  are  not  at  all  afraid  of  one  another.  Don't 
tremble,  Nelly." 

Katherine  read  her  letter  standing  on  the  terrace 
before  the  hotel.  The  dying  evening  seemed  to 
throb  softly  in  the  southern  sky,  arching  solemnly 
to  the  horizon  line.  Katherine  looked  out  at  the 
sea — it  was  characteristic  of  her  deeply  set  eyes  to 
look  straight  out  and  seldom  up.  She  stood  still, 
holding  the  letter  quietly ;  Katherine  had  none  of 
the  weakness  that  seeks  an  outlet  for  the  stress  of 
resolution  in  nervous  gesture.  She  did  not  even 
walk  up  and  down  ;  indeed  the  resolution  was  made 
and  meditation  needless.  Turning  after  a  moment, 
she  went  into  the  hotel  and  asked  at  the  office 
whether  Mr.  Odd  were  to  be  found. 

"  Yes,  he  was  in  his  room  ;  he  had  only  arrived  an 
hour  ago. 

Katherine  requested  the  man  to  tell  Mr.  Odd  that 
18  273 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

Miss  Archinard  was  on  the  terrace  and  would  like 
to  see  him.  In  two  minutes  Peter  was  walking  out 
to  meet  her. 

Peter's  eyes,  as  they  shook  hands,  were  rather 
sternly  steady ;  Katherine's  steady,  but  more 
humorous. 

"  Sans  rancune  ?  "  she  inquired,  with  some  light- 
ness, and  then,  sparing  him  the  necessity  for  a  reply 
that  might  be  embarrassing  for  both  of  them — 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question ;  pardon  abrupt- 
ness;  why  don't  you  marry  Hilda?  Won't  she? 
There  are  two  questions  !  " 

"  I  don't  marry  her  because  she  won't.  And 
there  is  the  evident  reply,  Katherine." 

"  Do  you  despair?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  can't  say  that.  Time  may  wear  out  her  re- 
sistance." 

"I  know  Hilda  better  than  you  do — perhaps. 
You  see  I  have  got  over  my  jealousy."  Katherine's 
smile  had  all  its  charm.  "  She  won't  if  she  said 
she  would  n't ;  if  she  has  ideals  on  the  subject." 

"  Then  I  must  resign  myself  to  hopeless  wretched- 
ness." 

"  No ;  you  must  not.  /  am  going  to  help  you. 
Don't  look  so  gloomily  unimpressed.  I  am  going 
to  help  you.  I  am  going  to  do  penance,  and  I  don't 
believe  you  will  consider  it  an  expiation  either! 
Just  encourage  me  by  a  little  appreciation  of  my 
dubious  nobility."  Odd  looked  questioningly  at  her. 

"  Peter,  when  I  came  back  that  night  I  was  en- 
gaged to  Allan  Hope." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Peter.     They  looked  at  one  another 
through  the  almost  palpable  dusk  of  the  evening. 
274 


HILDA 

"  I  '11  give  you  the  facts — draw  your  own  con- 
clusions. I  '11  give  you  facts,  but  don't  ask  self- 
abasement  put  into  words.  You  really  have  n't  the 
right,  have  you,  Peter?" 

"No;  I  suppose  not.  No,  /  haven't  the  right." 
"  You  put  yourself  in  the  wrong,  you  see.  You 
must  allow  me  to  flaunt  that  ragged  superiority. 
Peter,  very  soon  after  our  engagement  you  began 
to  dissatisfy  me  because  I  realized  that  I  should 
never  satisfy  you.  The  more  you  knew  me  the 
more  you  would  disapprove,  and  your  nature  could 
never  understand  mine  to  the  extent  of  pardoning. 
Once  I  'd  seen  that,  everything  was  up.  It  would  n't 
do ;  and  the  knowledge  grew  upon  me  that  the  im- 
possibility was  emphasized  by  the  fact  that  Hilda 
ivotild  do.  /  saw  that  you  loved  her,  Peter ;  stupid, 
stupid  Peter!  And  poor  little  Hilda!  She  was 
ground  between  two  stones,  was  n't  she?  your  igno- 
rance and  my  knowledge.  I  give  you  leave  to  offer 
me  up  as  a  burnt  sacrifice  at  her  altar,  only  don't 
let  me  hear  myself  crackling.  Yes  ;  I  saw  that  you 
were  in  love  with  her,  and  that  she  would  be  in  love 
with  you  if  it  could  come — as  it  should  have  come — 
as  I  intended  it  to  come — foolish,  hasty  Peter !  No  ; 
no  comments,  please  !  I  know  everything  you  can 
say.  I  took  precious  good  care  of  myself,  no  doubt ; 
my  generosity  was  n't  very  spontaneous  ;  perhaps  I 
thought  you  'd  get  over  it ;  perhaps  I  wanted  you  to 
get  over  it ;  perhaps  even  while  seeing  that  Allan 
Hope  would  do — for  I  satisfy  him  most  thoroughly 
— I  kept  a  tiny  indefinite  corner  in  my  motives  for 
possible  reactions ;  I  give  you  leave  to  draw  your 
inferences,  but  don't  ask  me  to  dot  my  i's  and  cross 
275 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

my  t's  too  cold-bloodedly.  I  accepted  Allan  Hope 
on  the  understanding  that  the  engagement  was  to 
be  kept  secret  for  a  few  months.  I  told  Allan  that 
you  did  not  love  me ;  that  I  did  not  love  you  ;  that 
our  engagement  was  broken.  I  told  him  that  when 
I  saw  his  love  for  me  struggling  with  his  loyalty  to 
you.  It  was  the  truth  from  my  point  of  view  ;  but 
from  his,  from  yours,  it  was  a  lie — and  own  that  at 
least  I  am  generous  in  telling  you  !  Too  generous 
perhaps.  I  came  back  to  Paris  to  tell  you  that  I 
had  discovered  it  would  n't  do,  and  to  make  you  and 
Hilda  happy.  And,  when  I  saw  you  together,  both 
as  bad  as  I  was — at  least  I  thought  so  at  the  time 
— both  disloyal — I  forgot  my  own  self-scorn ;  I  felt 
a  right  to  a  position  I  had  repudiated.  I  had  to 
be  cruel,  for,  Peter,  I  was  jealous  ;  I  hated  her  for 
being  the  one  who  would  satisfy  you  thoroughly 
and  forever." 

There  was  silence  between  them.  If  she  had 
satisfied  him  as  only  Hilda  could  satisfy  him,  she 
would  not  have  gone  to  Allan  perhaps.  Odd  with 
a  quick  throb  of  sympathy  understood  the  intima- 
tion, understood  both  her  courage  and  her  reticence. 
He  had  seen  her  at  her  noblest,  yet  there  was  much 
not  touched  upon,  far  from  noble. 

The  half  avowal  of  a  disappointed  love  flawed  her 
loyalty  to  Allan.  Such  love  deserved  disappoint- 
ment and  was  of  a  doubtful  quality.  Peter  respected 
her  frankness  but  was  not  deceived  by  it.  His  man- 
liness was  touched  by  the  possibility  she  had  hinted 
at.  He  understood  Katherine  and  he  forgave  her 
— with  reservations. 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  say,  and  he  did 
276 


HILDA 

not  seek  words.     He  and  Katherine  walked  slowly 
to  the  end  of  the  terrace. 

Then  Katherine  told  him  of  her  note  to  Hilda  and 
handed  him  Hilda's  reply. 

"  I  shall  go  to  England  to-morrow,  Katherine," 
said  Odd,  when  he  had  read  it. 

"  You  will  have  to  fight,  you  know.  She  will  say 
that  my  wrong  did  not  excuse  hers.  She  will  say 
that  nothing  excused  you.  She  is  a  little  goose." 

"  I  '11  fight." 

They  had  walked  back  to  the  entrance  of  the 
hotel  and  here  they  paused  ;  there  was  a  fitness  in 
farewell. 

"  Katherine,"  said  Odd,  "  it  would  have  been  very 
base  in  you  to  have  kept  silence,  and  yet,  in  spite  of 
that,  you  have  been  very  courageous  this  evening." 

"You  are  a  hideously  truthful  person,  Peter. 
Why  put  in  that  damaging  clause  ?  Have  I  merely 
escaped  baseness  ?  " 

"  No,  for  you  have  never  been  finer." 

"  That  is  true.  I  '11  never  reach  the  same  heights 
again,"  and  Katherine  laughed. 

"  Understand  that  /  understand.  Your  story  has 
not  absolved  me" 

"  There  is  the  danger  with  Hilda.  You  must 
make  my  holocaust  avail." 

"  I  hope  that  a  good  thing  is  never  lost,"  Peter 
replied. 

277 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  October  day  was  deliciously  warm  at  Al- 
lersley,  a  fragrant  autumnal  warmth,  limpid 
with  sunshine,  and  the  woods  all  golden. 

Odd  was  walking  through  the  woods,  the  sunshine 
of  home  and  hope  in  his  blood,  his  mood  of  reso- 
lute success  tempered  by  no  more  than  just  a  touch 
of  trembling. 

In  the  distance  lay  the  river,  a  glitter  here  and 
there  beyond  the  tree  trunks ;  the  little  landing- 
wharf  where  he  had  first  seen  Hilda  was  no  doubt 
still  unchanged  and  worth  a  pilgrimage  on  some 
later  day,  but  now  he  must  take  the  most  direct  way 
to  the  Priory  ;  he  had  only  arrived  an  hour  before, 
but  a  minute's  further  delay  would  be  unbearable. 
This  day  must  atone  for  all  the  past  failure  of  his 
life,  and  make  his  autumn  golden.  He  walked 
quickly,  following,  he  remembered,  almost  the  same 
path  among  the  trees  that  he  and  Hilda  had  gone 
by  that  night,  ten  years  ago ;  the  memory  empha- 
sized the  touch  of  trembling.  To  dwell  on  her  dear- 
ness  made  fear  tread  closely.  The  gray  stone  wall 
wound  among  the  woods,  Peter  caught  sight  of  it, 
and,  at  the  same  moment,  of  the  fluttering  white  of 
a  dress  beyond  it  that  made  his  heart  stand  still. 

He  could  not  have  hoped  to  find  Hilda  here  with 
278 


HILDA 

no  teasing  preliminaries,  no  languid  mother  or  sulky 
father  to  mar  the  fine  rush  of  his  onslaught. 

Such  good  luck  augured  well,  for — yes,  it  was 
Hilda  walking  slowly  among  the  trees — and  at  the 
clear  sight  of  her,  Peter  wondered  if  the  breathing 
space  of  a  conventional  preliminary  would  not  have 
been  better,  and  felt  that  he  had  exaggerated  his 
own  courage  in  picturing  that  conquering  impetu- 
osity. 

She  wore  no  hat,  and  her  head  drooped  with  an 
air  of  patient  sadness.  Her  hands  clasped  behind 
her,  she  walked  aimlessly  over  the  falling  leaves  and 
seemed  absently  to  listen  to  their  rustling  crispness 
as  her  footsteps  passed  through  them.  There  was 
a  black  bow  in  the  ruffled  bodice,  and  with  her  black 
hair  she  made  on  the  gold  and  gray  a  colorless  sil- 
houette. 

Odd  jumped  over  the  wall,  and,  as  he  approached 
her,  the  rustling  leaves  under  his  feet,  their  falling 
patter  from  the  trees,  seemed  to  fill  the  air  with 
loud  whisperings.  Hilda  turned  at  this  echo  of 
her  own  footfalls,  and  Odd  could  almost  have  smiled 
at  the  weary  unexpectancy  of  her  look  transformed 
to  a  wide  gaze  of  recognition.  But  his  heart  was  in 
a  flame  of  indignant  tenderness,  for,  all  chivalrous 
comprehension  conceded,  Katherine's  confession 
had  been  cruelly  tardy  and  Hilda's  face  was  pitiful. 
She  stood  silent  and  motionless  looking  at  him, 
and  Odd,  as  he  joined  her,  said  the  first  words  that 
came  to  his  lips. 

"  My  child  !     How  ill  you  look  !  " 

The  self-forgetful  devotion  of  his  voice,  his  eyes, 
sent  a  quiver  across  her  face,  but  Odd,  seeing  only 
279 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

its  frozen  pain,  remembered  those  stabbing  words : 
"You  are  cruel  and  weak  and  mean,"  which  she 
had  spoken  with  just  such  a  look,  and  any  linger- 
ing thought  of  a  fine  onslaught  was  nipped  in  the 
bud. 

"  I  may  speak  to  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

Hilda,  for  her  own  part,  found  it  almost  impos- 
sible to  speak ;  she  wanted  to  throw  herself  on  his 
breast  and  weep  away  all  the  gnawing  loneliness,  all 
the  cruel  doubts  and  bitter  sense  of  guilt.  The  sight 
of  him  gave  her  such  joy  that  everything  was  already 
half  forgotten — even  Katherine  ;  even  Katherine — 
she  realized  it  and  steeled  herself  to  say  with  cold 
faintness — 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  "  adding,  "  you  startled  me." 

"  So  thin,  so  pale,  such  woful  eyes  !  "  He  stood 
staring  at  her. 

"  You — don't  look  well  either,"  she  said,  still  in 
the  soft  cold  voice. 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  look  well." 

Peter  was  adapting  himself  to  reality  ;  but  if  the 
impetuous  dream  was  abandoned,  the  courage  of 
humbler  methods  was  growing,  and  he  could  smile 
a  little  at  her. 

"  Hilda,  I  have  a  great  deal  to  tell  you.  Will 
you  walk  with  me  for  a  little  while  ?  It  is  a  lovely 
day  for  walking.  How  beautiful  the  woods  are 
looking." 

"Beautiful.  I  walk  here  a  great  deal."  She 
looked  away  from  him  and  into  the  golden  distance. 

"  And  you  will  walk  here  now  with  me  ?  "  he 
asked,  adding,  as  the  pale  hesitation  of  her  face 
again  turned  to  him,  "  Don't  be  frightened,  dear,  I 
280 


HILDA 

am  not  going  to  force  any  solution  upon  you  ;  I  am 
not  going  to  try  to  make  you  think  well  of  me  in 
spite  of  your  conscience." 

Think  well  of  him  !  As  if,  good  or  bad,  he  was 
not  everything  to  her,  and  the  rest  of  the  world 
nowhere!  Hilda  now  looked  down  at  the  leaves. 

"  And  here  is  Palamon,"  said  Peter,  as  that  de- 
lightful beast  came  at  a  sort  of  abrupt  and  plough- 
ing gallop,  necessitated  by  the  extreme  shortness  of 
his  crumpled  legs,  through  the  heaped  and  fallen 
foliage.  "  He  remembers  me,  too,  the  dear  old  boy," 
and  Palamon,  whose  very  absorbed  and  business- 
like manner  gave  way  to  sudden  and  smiling  demon- 
stration, was  patted  and  rubbed  cordially  in  answer 
to  his  cordial  welcome. 

"  It  must  seem  strange  to  you  being  here  again 
after  such  a  time,"  said  Odd,  when  he  and  Hilda 
turned  towards  the  river,  Palamon,  with  an  air  of 
happy  sympathy,  at  their  heels.  The  river  was  in- 
visible, a  good  half-mile  away,  and  the  whispering 
hush  of  the  woods  surrounded  them. 

"  It  does  n't  seem  strange,  no,"  Hilda  replied  ; 
"  it  seems  very  peaceful." 

"  And  are  you  peaceful  with  it  ?  "  All  the  im- 
plied reserves  of  her  tone  made  Peter  wonder,  as  he 
had  often  wondered,  at  the  strength  of  this  fragile 
creature  ;  for,  although  that  conviction  of  having 
wronged  another  was  accountable  for  her  haggard 
young  face,  the  crushed  anguish  of  her  love  for  him 
was  no  less  apparent  in  the  very  aloofness  of  her 
glance. 

"  I  feel  merely  very  useless,"  she  said  with  a 
vague  smile. 

281 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  I  have  seen  Katherine,  Hilda."  Odd  waited 
during  a  few  moments  of  silent  walking  before 
making  the  announcement,  and  Hilda  stopped  short 
and  turned  wondering  eyes  on  him. 

"  It  was  at  Amalfi.  She  had  just  received  your 
letter,  and  she  sent  for  me;  she  had  something  to 
say  to  me."  Hilda  kept  silence,  and  Odd  added, 
"  You  knew  that  she  was  on  a  yachting  trip  ? " 
Hilda  bowed  assent.  "  And  that  Allan  Hope  is  of 
the  party  ?  " 

"  I  heard  that ;  yes." 

"  And  that  he  and  Katherine  are  to  be  married  ?  " 

Here  Hilda  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"  She  does  n't  love  him,"  she  cried.  Odd  con- 
sidered her  with  a  disturbed  look. 

"  You  must  n't  say  that,  you  know.  I  fancy  she 
does — love  him." 

"  She  did  it  desperately  after  you  had  failed  her  ; 
after  I  had  robbed  her." 

Odd  was  too  conscious  of  the  possibility  of  a 
subtle  half-truth  in  this  to  assert  the  bold  unvar- 
nished whole  truth  of  a  negative. 

Hilda's  loyalty  lent  a  dignity  to  Katherine's  most 
doubtful  motives,  a  dignity  that  Katherine  would 
probably  contemplate  with  surprise,  but  accept  with 
philosophic  pleasure. 

Had  Hilda  indeed  robbed  her  unwittingly  ?  Had 
he  failed  her  long  before  her  deliberate  breach 
of  faith?  He  had,  she  said,  shown  his  love  for 
Hilda,  and  would  she  have  turned  to  Lord  Allan's 
more  facile  contentment  had  she  been  sure  of 
Peter's  ? 

Delicate  problem,  without  doubt.  His  mind 
282 


HILDA 

dwelt  on  its  vexatious  tragic-comic  aspect,  while  he 
stared  almost  absently  at  Hilda. 

Certainly  his  disloyalty  had  been  unintentional, 
guiltless  of  plot  or  falsehood  ;  and  Katherine's  was 
intentional,  deceitful,  ignoble.  It  would  be  possible 
to  shock  every  chord  of  honor  in  Hilda  with  the 
bold  announcement  that  Katherine  had  been  en- 
gaged when  she  came  to  Paris,  and  that  her  cruel 
triumph  had  been  won  under  a  lying  standard. 

And  that  shock  might  shatter  forever,  not  the 
sense  of  personal  wrong-doing,  but  all  responsibility 
towards  one  so  base,  all  that  brooding  consciousness 
of  having  spoiled  another's  life.  Katherine  had 
abandoned  the  position,  and  poor  Hilda  had  merely 
stumbled  on  its  vacant  lie. 

Yet  Odd  felt  that  there  might  be  some  ignoble 
self-interest  in  showing  the  ugly  fact  with  no  soften- 
ing circumstances ;  circumstances  might  indeed 
soften  the  ugliness  into  a  dangerously  tragic  resem- 
blance to  despairing  disappointment.  Hilda  would 
be  horribly  apt  to  think  more  of  the  circumstances 
than  of  the  fact.  Odd  was  consciously  inclined  to 
think  the  fact  simply  ugly,  inclined  to  believe  that 
the  irksomeness  of  his  growing  disapproval,  rather 
than  the  loss  of  his  love,  had  led  Katherine  to  seek 
a  more  amenable  substitute  ;  but  with  a  sense  of 
honor  so  acute  as  to  be  hardly  honest,  Peter  put 
aside  his  own  advantageous  surmises,  and  prepared 
to  give  Katherine's  story  from  a  most  delicate 
and  selected  standpoint.  Strict  adherence  to  Kath- 
erine's words,  and  yet  such  artistic  chivalry  in  their 
setting  that  even  Katherine  would  find  her  sacrifice 
at  Hilda's  altar  painless. 

283 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

"  You  shall  have  her  own  words,"  he  said,  after  a 
long  pause.  He  felt  that  the  inner  trembling  had 
grown  to  a  great  terror.  He  became  pale  before 
the  compelling  necessity  for  exaggerated  magna- 
nimity. 

To  lose  his  own  cause  in  pleading  Katherine's 
loomed  a  black  probability,  yet  in  his  very  defeat 
he  would  prove  himself  not  unworthy  of  Hilda's 
love  ;  neither  cruel  nor  mean  nor  weak.  Ah  ! 
piercing  words  !  At  least  he  could  now  draw  them 
from  their  rankling.  And  as  they  walked  together 
he  told  Katherine's  story,  lending  to  it  every  chari- 
table possibility  with  which  she  herself  could  not 
honestly  have  invested  it. 

When  he  had  done,  taking  off  his  hat,  for  his 
temples  were  throbbing  with  the  stress  of  the  recital, 
and  looking  at  Hilda  with  an  almost  pitifully  boyish 
look,  he  had  emphasized  his  own  unconscious  reve- 
lation of  his  love  for  Hilda,  emphasized  that  hint  of 
broken-hearted  generosity  in  Katherine,  he  had 
hardly  touched  on  her  lie  to  Allan  or  on  the  glaring 
fact  that  she  had  made  sure  of  him  before  giving 
Peter  his  freedom.  The  soreness  that  the  revelation 
of  Katherine's  selfishness  had  made  between  them 
so  soon  after  their  engagement,  he  had  not  men- 
tioned. 

Hilda  walked  along,  looking  steadily  down.  Once 
or  twice  during  the  story  she  had  clutched  her 
clasped  hands  more  tightly,  and  once  or  twice  her 
step  had  faltered  and  she  had  paused  as  though  to 
listen  more  intently,  but  the  white  profile  with  its 
framing  eddies  of  hair  crossed  the  pale  gold  back- 
ground, its  attitude  of  intense  quiet  unchanged. 
284 


HILDA 

The  silence  that  followed  his  last  words  seemed 
cruelly  long  to  Odd,  but  at  last  she  lifted  her  eyes, 
and  meeting  the  solemn,  pitiful,  boyish  look,  her 
own  look  broke  suddenly  into  passionate  sympathy 
and  emotion. 

"  Peter,"  she  said,  standing  still  before  him,  "she 
didn't  love  you." 

"  I  don't  think  she  did."  Odd's  voice  was  shaken 
but  non-committal. 

"  Perhaps  she  loved  you  more  than  she  could  love 
any  one  else,"  said  Hilda. 

"  Yes  ;  perhaps." 

Hilda's  hands  were  still  clasped  behind  her,  and 
she  looked  hard  into  his  face  as  she  added  with  a 
certain  stern  deliberateness — 

"  I  don't  believe  she  ever  loved  anybody." 

Odd  was  silent.  He  had  not  dared  to  hope  for 
such  a  clear  perception. 

"  She  was  very  cruel  to  me,"  said  Hilda,  after  a 
little  pause,  and  her  eyes,  turning  from  his,  looked 
far  away  as  if  following  the  fading  of  a  lost  illusion. 

"  I  don't  think  she  ever  cared  much  for  me 
either,"  she  added. 

"  Not  much ;  not  as  you  interpret  caring." 

Peter  kept  the  balance  with  difficulty,  for  over 
him  rushed  that  indignant  realization  of  Katherine's 
intrinsic  selfishness. 

"  No  ;  I  could  not  have  been  so  cruel  to  her,  not 
even  if  she  had  robbed  me  of  you."  It  was  the 
most  self-assertive  speech  he  had  ever  heard  her  utter. 

"  No ;  you  could  not  have  been  so  cruel  to  her," 
he  repeated,  "  not  even  loving  me  as  you  did  and  as 
she  did  not." 

285 


THE  DULL  MISS  ARCHINARD 

There  was  a  pause,  a  pause  in  which  it  seemed 
to  Odd  that  the  very  trees  stretched  out  their 
branches  in  breathless  listening,  and  Hilda  said 
slowly — 

"  But  that  does  n't  make  what  I  did  less  wrong. 
I  was  as  weak,  as  disloyal,  as  though  Katherine  had 
loved  us  both  as  much  as  I  thought  she  did." 

"  And  I  as  cruel,  as  weak,  as  mean  ?  "  Odd  asked. 

"  Ah,  don't ! "  she  said,  with  a  look  of  pain. 
"You  have  redeemed  yourself,"  she  added,  "and 
have  made  me  more  ashamed." 

"  Then  I  have  made  a  miserable  failure  of  my  at- 
tempt." 

"  No,  no  ;  you  have  not." 

The  river  was  before  them  now,  and  the  woods 
sloped  down  to  its  curving  band  of  silver.  They 
both  stood  still  and  looked  at  it,  and  beyond  it  at 
the  gentle  stretches  of  autumnal  hill  and  meadow. 

"Dear  Peter,"  said  Hilda  gently.  He  looked 
down  at  her  and  she  up  at  him,  putting  her  hand 
in  his,  but  so  gravely  and  quietly  that  the  tender 
little  action  conveyed  nothing  but  a  reminiscence  of 
the  child  of  ten  years  ago. 

So,  holding  hands,  they  were  both  still  silent,  and 
again  they  looked  at  the  river,  the  meadows,  and  the 
blue  distance  of  the  hills.  Palamon,  after  running 
here  and  there,  with  rather  assumed  interest,  his 
nose  to  the  ground,  came  and  sat  down  before  them 
with  an  air  of  dignified  acquiescence  and  appreci- 
ative contemplation.  In  the  woods  the  sudden,  sad- 
sweet  twitter  of  a  bird  seemed  to  embroider  the 
silence  with  unconscious  pathos. 

"  O  Peter  !  "  said  Hilda  suddenly,  on  a  note  as 
286 


HILDA 

impulsive  and  as  inevitable  as  the  bird's.  He 
looked  at  her  and  put  his  arms  around  her,  saying 
nothing. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hilda,  "  I  cannot  help  it.  I  love  you 
too  much,  dear  Peter.  Everything  else  may  have 
been  wrong,  but  it  is  right  to  love  you." 

He  took  her  face  between  his  hands  and  looked 
at  her. 

"  Everything  else  would  be  wrong." 

"  Then  kiss  me,  Peter." 

He  gave  himself  the  joy  of  a  delicious  postpone- 
ment. 

"  Not  till  you  tell  me  that  you  see  that  everything 
else  would  be  wrong."  But  the  kiss  was  given 
before  her  answer. 

"  I  trust  you,  and  you  must  know." 


THE  END. 


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